


For You: Stand By Me

by inspiredbythemusic



Series: For You [4]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:54:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 67,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspiredbythemusic/pseuds/inspiredbythemusic
Summary: “If he was a moment that I embraced with my all, then there would be nothing to regret at breaking dawn. If nothing else, I would make him my most beautiful memory My most beautiful dream. My precious Sehun.”
Relationships: Lee Donghae/Original Female Character(s), Oh Sehun/Original Female Character(s)
Series: For You [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954966
Kudos: 1





	1. The Girl with the Gappy Smile

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended Reading: For You: 4 O’Clock; these works have separate, independent, but deeply interwoven timelines.

**Sehun’s POV**

She was weird from the very beginning, but I guess I always liked her. 

She was always sitting there at that table by the vending machine outside of the dance studio. As a trainee, I passed by her every day on the way to and from practice. The first time I caught her looking up at me from her little book, I pretended not to notice. I didn’t say anything. After buying my chips, I dashed back to practice because— really— what could I have said to this kid? 

I could have asked who she was and what she was doing there. I did, eventually, after weeks passed and she hadn’t budged from her place at the table. 

“I’m Lei.” Her smile was too big for her face, and it made her look much younger than her solemn studying expression. Before I saw her, I didn’t know that kids could have laugh lines. She spoke through the gap in her front teeth, “I’m Super Junior’s kid!”

Because I was still new to the agency, I didn’t know then that Super Junior was managed by the idol who never debuted. I didn’t understand that I was talking to a controversial kid who would grow up to be something like royalty at S.M. 

To tell you the truth, I almost didn’t expect her to understand me; I had never really talked to a foreigner before. Eventually, I would learn that she was American, and that’s why she spoke with a funny accent. That’s why she spoke to me without considering our age difference like every other person in Korea. 

At first, it was startling— talking to somebody so different— but it didn’t offend me or anything. Because I finished practice for the day, and I had nothing better to do, I sat across from her and dropped my backpack at my feet. 

If she was Super Junior’s kid, I thought, it was pretty irresponsible for them to leave her alone so often. “Do you just sit here by yourself all day?” I felt my eyebrows pinching together in concern. Maybe that’s why I liked her. She was the first person I ever looked after. “Don’t you go to school or something?”

“I’m not by myself,” she responded brightly. Just as I was about to ask if she had an imaginary friend or something, she pulled from the seat next to her a doll with dark hair, brown eyes, and warm-toned skin. From a glance, I knew it was expensive— one of those porcelain dolls that adults collect. It looked like her, just without the gap between the teeth because it’s red-painted lips were pressed into a closed-mouth smile. “Marisol is studying Mandarin with me.”

It’s normal for little kids to cling to their toys and live in their imaginations, I guess. I don’t know if they usually understand the difference between dreams and reality, but I'm almost certain Lei didn't. She spoke as if her doll were a real girl sitting and reading with her. Remembering this is kind of weird because I now understand that Lei never had friends her age because she didn’t go to a real school. At the time, I guess, that doll was as close as she could get to a real friend. 

I say that I understand, but I guess I don’t. It’s more like I can imagine. Nothing about Lei ever made sense to me at first, so I could only blink at her because I didn’t know what to say. She didn’t act like other kids (not that I knew anybody else her age) so I didn’t know whether to talk to her as a kid or as an equal. It was weird. Uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” she nodded suddenly as if answering a question I hadn’t asked. “You’re the handsomest.”

“What?” I raised my eyebrows at her. My mouth fell open. Were all kids so direct?

She closed her book and told me, “I’ve seen a lot of people come through here—” she must have meant the S.M. building— “and most of them are pretty cute, but there has never been anyone as handsome as you.”

It was weird. I was only about fourteen years old, and I kind of had this embarrassing habit of stuttering around girls, so I avoided them. so nobody had ever said anything like that to me before. So it was weird because it was my first time receiving a compliment like that, and it was weird because she was a kid, and it was weird because she spoke matter-of-factly— without a blush, a bashful smile, any hesitation, and any expectation that I would return her praise. 

“How old are you?” I asked, but maybe it didn’t really matter. She was obviously younger than me, so it’s not like her answer would have made me feel less uncomfortable. 

“ ** _Technically_** ,” she said, pronouncing every syllable carefully, “I’m nine years old, but I’ll be ten in April.”

_**‘When in April?’**_ I almost asked, thinking that it would have been kind of funny to share a birthday. I shook the question from my mind once I decided that somebody had to teach this innocent little kid not to be so forward with boys. “Isn’t nine a little young to call boys handsome?”

At that, her face burned red, and I felt kind of bad. “No,” she argued instead of quietly accepting the criticism. “Heechul said that if you think something about somebody, you should tell them. I think you’re the handsomest, and that’s why I told you.” To her, it was as simple as that. 

It was embarrassing to be around somebody so honest. I hoped that she would grow out of that habit of saying things so bluntly; it made me squirm. “Heechul gave you dangerous advice,” I told her mostly because I didn’t want to hear everything she thought about me. This concern was secondary: “You can’t tell everyone everything you think. That can get you hurt.”

She blinked at me, uncomprehending. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Why couldn’t she just accept that I was right? I didn’t want her to understand; I just wanted her to obey. “Don’t tell every boy you meet that they’re the handsomest.”

“I don’t!” She scowled at me. “You’re the only person I’ve ever said that to!” I guess I could have thanked her and let the compliment slide once, but I was too stubborn to abandon the principle of the argument. “You can’t just flirt with boys like that— especially boys who are older than you.”

“I’m not flirting. I’m only saying what I think.”

“Well,” I bossed, “stop it.”

Glaring, she asked, “Why?”

And I squirmed because I didn’t know how to answer. ‘Why?’ is the worst question because no answer is ever good enough; ‘Why?’ happened to be Lei’s favorite question. I didn’t really want to tell her about the kind of people who would take advantage of her pure admiration. I didn’t want her to keep looking at me like that, and I didn’t want to keep wasting my breath telling her what to do. 

Deciding with the roll of my eyes that if I couldn’t keep her from saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, I would have to stand by to protect her, I huffed, “It’s just not proper.”

Frowning, she positioned the doll between us on the table, I guess, to act as a sort of barrier. She flung open the cover of her book and, maybe to hide what little bit of her face I could still see, she raised the book to be her shield. Apparently, she didn’t want to look at me anymore. 

I shouldn’t have cared. It would have been easy to stand up and walk out the door were it not for the sudden sinking weight in my stomach. There’s nothing worse than upsetting a kid— especially one who hadn’t meant any harm. Even before I turned into a stupid teenager, I didn’t know how to apologize, so I just sat there, drumming my fingers on the table and wishing that she would say something or smile that gappy smile again so I wouldn’t have to say sorry. 

I might have sat there all night had two members of Super Junior not shown up to return the stars to her eyes. “Donghae! Yesung!” She dropped the book flat onto the table to reach for their embrace. 

“Here’s lunch!” Yesung grinned as he placed a McDonald’s bag before her. “And here’s your strawberry milkshake!” Donghae set before her a cup that was far too large for a child. 

They were pretty doting, I guess, ruffling her hair and asking about her day, which she spent studying. This must have been a part of her daily routine that I had never seen before. When she smiled at them— the people she claimed as her family— she didn’t look so lonely, but there was something about Lei— there was something about that everyday image of her sitting alone with her doll and learning from some book— that made me wish someone could be with her always. 

It wasn’t my place to tell anyone how to take care of her. At fourteen years old, I was practically a kid myself even if I didn’t want to believe it. Still, I thought that Lei deserved to be playing outside in the sun. She deserved to meet people with the same gappy smile. She deserved to have the joys of a normal nine-year-old even if she was extraordinary. I don’t know why I cared so much, but I did. Yesung noticed me staring at their scene first. He eyed me curiously— almost suspiciously— before Donghae noticed me and asked Lei with a smile, “Did you make a friend today?”

Without looking at me, her face turned red. “No,” she mumbled, the corners of her mouth twitching downward. So quietly that I shouldn’t have been able to hear, she said, “I don’t think Sehun likes me very much.”

I shifted in my seat, reacting partially to the shock that she knew my name although I hadn’t given it to her, but reacting mostly to Yesung’s and Donghae’s stares sharpened to pierce through me. Obviously, because I was a trainee, being the target of glares from senior artists was a nightmare, but I didn’t speak up merely to lessen their grudge against me. I spoke up because it was kind of heartbreaking— the way she hid her face in the crook of her elbow after she crossed her arms on the table. 

It was never a mystery: Lei had a crush on me for whatever reason. While I didn’t know what to do with her nine-year-old feelings, I knew that I didn’t want to crush them. I wasn’t the most sensitive guy on earth or anything, but I didn’t want to hurt her. I never wanted to hurt her. 

Pain is inevitable when you care too much about what somebody says, so I crossed my fingers and prayed that she would grow out of listening to me. Resolving to use my power over her emotions for good— just once— I said, “I do like you.” 

It was true. There’s no point in acknowledging that we didn’t like each other the same way. I don’t think any two people ever feel the same way at the same time, so that idea of ‘mutual feelings’ never appealed to me. I don’t know why people make such a big fuss about feelings when they rarely have any rhyme or reason. Don’t think I’m intentionally insensitive; I just don’t get it. 

“Really?” Lei looked up at me skeptically. 

Was there any way to satisfy this kid? Had I said the wrong thing again? I hated situations like that. The longer she looked at me to say what she wanted to hear, the longer I would disappoint her. I couldn’t tell her to look away, though. She wouldn’t have obeyed me anyway. 

Still aware of Yesung’s and Donghae’s eyes fixed on me, I nodded. “Yeah. We’re friends, so stop—” I had an epiphany: if she wouldn’t look away from me, I could look away from her. I did. “Stop looking at me like that.”

I didn’t have to look at her to see the return of her bright smile. It was blinding. Somehow, I could feel it. Maybe this is selfish, but I remember just feeling glad that I could breathe again.


	2. The Boy with the Keychain

**Lei’s POV**

2009 was a good year for me. That was the year “Sorry, Sorry,” was released, sky-rocketing Super Junior to almost unprecedented success. That was the year I met Sehun, who (along with the members of Super Junior, Taeyeon, and Amber) is among the people I have known the longest. That was the year I celebrated my golden birthday— turning ten years old on April 10. 

I don’t want you to think that Sehun was ever all I lived for, but you have to understand that his was my favorite face from those days. Back then, I hadn’t yet heard the whispers about the idol who never debuted. Maybe Mom and Super Junior were shielding my ears, or maybe the rumors just hadn’t resonated with me because I was too young to empathize. Back then, because I was not an idol or even a trainee, I had no image to protect. 

Of course, I didn’t understand the value of freedom until it was limited once (often judgmental) eyes fixed on me, almost anticipating a mistake. As a child, my feelings were as simple as this: I liked Sehun, and I wanted to see him. Because I was not yet in the habit of denying my urges, I gawked after him. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth. 

The really pitiful part is that I didn’t ever expect him to speak to me, look at me or acknowledge me in any way, so I never asserted my presence. Always carrying a book— either educational or fictional— I would only try to sit near him or steal occasional glances. I never spoke first or even listened closely when he spoke to Suho, Chanyeol, or any of the other trainees who were later grouped in EXO. Just seeing him or hearing his voice made me happy; I was content just to be near Sehun. 

Years later, for some time, I would curse this period that I was too ashamed to remember. Once I had grown into a teenager who despised (feared) dating and boys and the fake flashes of romance that so many idols wasted their lives chasing, I hated that I had ever been a lovesick child— especially toward Sehun, who had always been too old and too aware of an idol’s limitations. 

Now that enough time has passed, now that some wounds have healed, I believe that willingness to be even the most insignificant character in somebody’s life is the purest form of love. I want to fondly remember when I had been so willing, so innocent, but it’s difficult because I’m not the same person I was back then. 

Isn’t it sad that everything changes? Even I, who I swore could never change, have grown past those days. I don’t especially want to go back— that kind of regret is useless because it makes people wish for the impossible ability to turn back time— but I would like to remember without bias. I would like to remember without knowing the end. I would like to tell you my memories as simply as they seemed at the time, but nothing is simple in hindsight. 

Please understand that these are memories that, until quite recently, I tried to silence in my mind and heart. Please understand that I am trying to untangle them and restore them because the storm has passed, and I am ready to cherish them again. Please don’t laugh at me for never quite growing out of some childish habits. Please forgive me for failing to stay the child in this story forever; I didn’t mean to grow up. 

Let me try to remember things one moment at a time. Maybe that will help. 

I’ll start on my tenth birthday because that was supposed to be a golden day, and maybe it was. It started where every other day started: at the S.M. building. In the corner of the dance studio, I sat with Mom. Although I was supposed to be studying note cards of Korean vocabulary words while Mom finalized Super Junior’s schedule for the month, I kept stealing glances at Sehun as he, with Chanyeol, tried to learn a dance from Donghae and Eunhyuk. 

When Donghae caught me watching, he kindly asked, “Do you want to join us, Lei?” As always, he was trying to include me in his world. 

However, in that moment, I decided that I would have to learn to admire Sehun more discreetly; I hated the blush that scalded my face when everybody in the room turned to look at me. It didn’t matter that the room wasn’t full; four people staring at me was enough. 

Of course, I wouldn’t learn instantly how to discreetly admire Sehun. I wonder how much embarrassment I could have saved myself had such a miracle been possible, but that kind of imagination is pointless. 

Shaking my head at Donghae’s question, I found my red-faced reflection in the mirror lining the walls. Ten seems too young to feel insecure, I think, but I remember that when finding myself in the glass, I thought of all the beautiful people I watched walk through the agency. I looked nothing like those people. 

Maybe because I was already confident in my intellect and my sense of morality, or maybe because I was only ten, my only dream at the time was to be beautiful too. As was my habit, I forced a smile just to see the small metal brackets glued onto my teeth to remind myself that I was making progress. The braces helped, I guess. They straightened my teeth and closed the gap I never liked until years later when I looked back on old photographs. My smile would always be too big for my face, though; I would never grow into it. 

“Come on, Lei,” Eunhyuk insisted. He either never picked up my embarrassment or he never cared. I don’t mean that in a negative way; I always admired that Eunhyuk wasn’t limited by nerves, and I wanted to be like that too. “If you’re gonna be a superstar someday, you have to learn how to dance!”

Because he wasn’t dumb enough to overtly ridicule me in front of Mom, Donghae, and Eunhyuk, Chanyeol didn’t say anything. He couldn’t quite stifle his laugh, though. He was always laughing at me, and never in a way that made me want to laugh along— in a way that drained the color from my already pale face and intensified each beat of my heart until it was hard to breathe. 

I have always been sensitive. Back then, I didn’t know how to hide my emotions, and I didn’t understand that Chanyeol was entitled to some degree of respect as my elder, so I gripped my notecards until they bent and grumbled, “Stop laughing at me.”

Chanyeol didn’t hear me over Sehun. Despite understanding that Chanyeol was his elder, Sehun furrowed his brow. “What’s so funny, Chanyeol?” It was one of those questions that really means ‘shut up,’ so Sehun didn’t even give Chanyeol a chance to respond before saying, “I don’t mind if Lei practices with us.”

Sehun's rush to my defense, as he often did, should have made me feel better, but his brief glance at me only deepened my blush. Wanting nothing less than to embarrass myself in front of Sehun— forgetting for a moment that I was already a decent dancer owing to Eunhyuk’s occasional instruction— I pleadingly looked to Mom to bail me out of an impromptu dance lesson. 

Only having to scan my expression to feel my desperation, Mom said, “Lei is studying right now,” and they returned to their practice without another word as if theywere never distracted.

If I was ten, that means that Mom was almost thirty-one; our birthdays were exactly twenty years and ten months apart. I always thought that she was the prettiest person in the world, especially then, when her long black hair was tied up in a ponytail. Sweeping her bangs out of her eyes to study my reaction, she said quietly, “You don’t have to become an idol if you don’t want to.”

I remember gaping at her because that was the first time I realized that fame was an option. That was the moment I understood that Donghae and Eunhyuk, at least, imagined that I might follow in their footsteps. Feeling for the first time that they were invested in my future— feeling for the first time that I could fail to fulfill their hopes, I asked, “Do you want me to become an idol?”

Mom smiled and said something that I couldn’t understand: “You are already my idol.” She dropped her notebook to cup my cheeks, which were forever swollen, giving me the appearance of a child well into adulthood. “You have been my ultimate idol for ten years, Lei.”

“Ten years,” I repeated because it was impossible to fathom, “is my whole entire life!”

“Exactly,” Mom nodded. 

In those ten years, all I had done after birth was follow people around. First I followed Mom because she was the first person I ever saw and trusted; and then I met Yesung and followed him because he was the bravest person I had ever known and I thought he could teach me to be strong; and then I met Taeyeon and followed her because she was the prettiest person I had ever seen and I thought she could teach me to be like the sun; and then I met Amber, and we talked so easily because we both knew English, and we were both American, and she looked different from everyone else too, and I followed her because I thought she could teach me to embrace my reflection; and then I met Sehun and followed him because he was the handsomest person in the world and I didn’t care what he taught me as long as I could be near him. 

Now, I try not to criticize those days too harshly, because I believe they were the steps I took to find myself. After all, I was only a child trying to navigate the world. For a while, though, I faulted myself for trying to fill the voids in my character with people. For a while, I thought that was the worst thing to do— lean too heavily on others. For a while, I thought I had done the wrong thing by looking for them to teach me what I wanted to learn. I don’t know where I got those ideas; ultimately, I think they did more harm than good.

That was my first moment of deep confusion— the first hint of loneliness— when I was ten years old, and I couldn’t understand why my mother, who spent all her days around real idols, could look at me as if I had accomplished anything that compared to their achievements.

I sat there after Mom released her hold on my cheeks, after the dance practice had dissolved, and the only thought that made sense in my mind was, _**“If Sehun is going to be an idol, then I want to be one too.”**_ That’s probably the most embarrassing thought I had in my entire life, but at least I had the sense to keep it to myself. 

Standing to escort Donghae and Eunhyuk to their next schedule, she asked as if I were an adult who determined my own schedule, “Are you coming, Lei? You can help me with the photo shoot!”

To tell you the truth, I think I might have been better as a manager than I was as an idol. Like Mom, from a young age, my mind could identify most risks from a mile away. A part of me wanted to leap at the chance to help with another photo shoot, but I shook my head because I already made plans. I guess I was like an adult who determined my own schedule.

“I promised Taeyeon that I would meet her down the hall before Girls’ Generation’s dance practice. Apparently,” I smiled, “she wants to give me a birthday present!”

Despite Chanyeol’s efforts to pull him outside, Sehun remained in the doorway. “It’s your birthday?”

Before I could form a blushing response, Donghae dropped an arm over my shoulder and boasted, “Yep!”

Wiping at non-existent tears, Eunhyuk sniffled, “Our little baby princess is already a decade old!”

While Eunhyuk pinched at my cheeks and I rolled my eyes at the attention, Chanyeol huffed insincerely, “Happy birthday, princess. Now Sehun—” he looked at his friend with bulging eyes— “are we going to the arcade or what?”

“I thought we were going to celebrate my birthday,” Sehun responded. And when Chanyeol insisted that they were, Sehun continued, “then stop rushing me.” At that, as if Sehun held the authority in their friendship, Chanyeol fell silent.

Turning to me with the faintest of smiles, Sehun asked, “Since we would’ve been twins if you were born two days later, do you want to celebrate our birthdays together?”

I blinked, and Sehun asked more clearly, “Do you want to go to the arcade with us?”

Under his breath so that maybe only Sehun should have heard, Chanyeol said, “You can’t be twins with a little kid.”

_**‘I’m not that little!’**_ I wanted to argue, but maybe I was.

While Sehun was only five years older than me, and Chanyeol was only two years older than him, in the world of children and teenagers, I was as good as centuries younger. Since everyone I knew was older than me, I should have been used to this feeling, but I wasn’t. While I was always the youngest in every room, nobody liked to flaunt their seniority as much as Chanyeol. That’s why we never became friends.

The sense that I didn’t belong in an arcade with a couple of teenagers overwhelmed my childish desire to always be with Sehun. Still, I didn’t quite have the heart to directly answer ‘no,’ so, staring down at my sneakered feet, I replied, “I don’t think my Mom will allow me to go.”

“Come on, Manager,” Donghae gently pleaded as if Mom had actually told me no. “Sehun is a responsible kid, and—”

Glancing back at me, Mom said, “You can go if you want." @ithout waiting for my answer (not that I would have said anything anyway), she asked Chanyeol and Sehun, “Are you going to the arcade at the mall down the street?”

Spurred by Sehun’s nudging, Chanyeol begrudgingly replied, “Yes, ma’am.” He glared down at his watch. “Sehun and I were going to catch the 3:00 bus, but now I guess we’ll have to wait for the 3:15 or the 3:30.”

I might have been young, but I wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Chanyeol didn’t want me to tag along. Feeling very much like a burden to their plans, I didn’t want to accept the money Mom forced into my hand despite Sehun’s polite promises to pay for everything.

“I have to go.” She pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Ride the bus back here, and I’ll find you by the vending machine as soon as I can, and we’ll have cake when we get home, okay? Have fun!”

When I stood, motionless, even after Mom left with Eunhyuk and Donghae, Sehun beckoned me into the hall. “Don’t look so anxious,” he said. He was always kind of bossy. “I’m not going to let you ride the bus alone, so—”

It was always impossible to tell that Sehun was smiling until he started glaring again and the faint upturn of his lips faded. He cut his eyes at Chanyeol. “Would you stop tapping your foot? I’m trying to talk.” Although Sehun’s temper was a bit short, he wasn’t one to raise his voice. Were it not for the arching of his eyebrows, his annoyance wouldn’t have been obvious.

On Chanyeol’s face, however, anyone could read every emotion that passed through his mind. “You’ve talked long enough, haven’t you?” He crossed his arms, muscles taut through the short-cropped sleeves of his shirt. “You talked us right into a non-paying babysitting job, and now we’re going to miss the bus again, and—”

“Go, then.” Sehun gestured lazily toward the door. “Weren’t you listening? Lei has to meet Taeyeon to get her birthday present, so we’ll meet you at the arcade. You’re getting on my nerves anyway.”

Too stubborn to get along with me long enough to appreciate the chance to meet Girls’ Generation, Chanyeol rolled his eyes and stormed out of the building without saying another word.

. . . 

“Why aren’t you smiling?” Sehun asked after we boarded the bus and sat side by side. “Even when you opened Taeyeon’s gift, you didn’t smile.”

Staring down at the gift — a dark blue coin purse that mapped out silver constellations, filled with money from Taeyeon and Mom— I shrugged. “Why should I smile?” I grumbled dramatically, tucking the purse into my small bubble gum pink backpack. “I’m about to see Chanyeol, and he can’t stand me.”

“You should smile because it’s your birthday,” Sehun said.

I fixed my gaze out the window, admired the golden sun rays peeking through the clouds, and watched the blooming trees blurring together until Sehun snapped his fingers by my ears. “Hey. Look at me and listen when I talk to you.”

Once I obeyed, looking at him with eyes filled with childish tears, I hoped that his features would soften. He disappointed me, but no wound inflicted by Sehun was ever permanent. “Who cares if Chanyeol likes you?” His voice was as calm as ever.

“I care.” I sounded (and looked) more childish than ever as I pressed my lips in a pout and crossed my arms.

Sehun’s lips twisted in obvious disapproval. “Why?”

I struggled with an answer before admitting, “Everybody likes me. Everybody except Chanyeol.”

Being much stronger and smarter than me in many ways, Sehun sighed, “Chanyeol doesn’t have any reason to dislike you. You haven’t done anything to him, so whatever his problem is— it’s just that— his problem. You’re getting older, so you have to learn one way or another that some people are gonna dislike you, sometimes for no reason. And you can’t shed tears for everyone. You can save yourself a lot of pain if you just believe me on that.”

Sehun never sugar-coated anything and, weirdly, I think that’s why I liked him. After years of being (lovingly) smothered by Super Junior, it was a relief that he never hugged me until my tears stopped like Donghae would have or screamed and threw something (probably punches) at Chanyeol like Yesung would have. I never dreamed that I would eventually crave that kind of emotional response from Sehun.

Following him off the bus, almost running so that I wouldn’t fall too far behind— always chasing after him— I hummed, “You are very wise.” His laughter filled the spring air, and I had to smile even as I wondered, “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just—” he held the mall door open for me— “nobody has ever called me wise before.”

We walked in silence that he eventually broke. “Would you still think that I’m wise if you knew that everything I just told you was based on something Junmyeon said?”

“Junmyeon?” I repeated the name before his face flooded my mind. “Oh, you mean the prince!” I nodded enthusiastically. “He’s very wise, and I think you get some points for remembering what he said well enough to repeat it.”

Sehun, as usual, didn’t appreciate my compliment. “‘The Prince?’” His eyes cut through me, and I gulped to prepare for a scolding. “I told you not to flirt with boys, didn’t I?”

Although it was a waste of breath, I defended myself. “First of all, I thought he looked like a prince before I ever met you and learned that I’m not allowed to think anything nice about any boy ever.” Sehun snorted, but he didn’t quite grin. “Plus, I’m not dumb enough to call him a prince to his face.”

Let the record read that I have only ever been open in my admiration toward one person, and I eventually learned to regret it.

“I’ll let it slide, “Sehun mercifully decided, “because it’s your birthday.” As we stood at the edge of the food court, he asked, “Are you hungry?”

I shook my head, and Sehun raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you lying because you don’t want me to spend my money on you?”

As a matter of fact, I was. I shook my head and bit my tongue to maintain the lie because I thought it was the proper thing to do.

“Lei,” Sehun clicked his tongue, “as your senior, I’m supposed to pay your way, so just—”

Outright, I lied, “I’m not hungry.” My stomach betrayed me by loudly growling.

As my face flushed and I tightened my grip around my backpack’s straps, Sehun eyed me suspiciously. “Fine, but you have to promise to tell me when you get hungry, okay?”

While I was mid-way through a nod Chanyeol cheered through a mouthful of blue cotton candy, “There you are! Hey, princess—” he glanced down at me— “do you like cotton candy?” Before I could respond that (obviously) I did, he chuckled, “Why am I even asking? Every kid loves sugar,” and he forced an unopened container of pink cotton candy into my hand.

That was the one kind thing Chanyeol ever did for me. When I opened my mouth to thank him with my embarrassing gappy smile, he looked over me. My stomach dropped with the realization that he hadn’t warmed up to me. My cheeks burned from some kind of humiliation; they always did around Chanyeol.

“Okay,” he told Sehun as if I were invisible, “I gave the kid her cotton candy like you asked. Can we go play that new street racer game now?”

Oh. Dropping a piece of the cherry-flavored cloud onto my tongue, I realized that Sehun must have texted Chanyeol while I was talking to Taeyeon or while we sat on the bus. The only reason why I didn’t notice was that I was always too busy admiring Sehun’s face.

To Chanyeol’s disappointment, Sehun shrugged. “I think Lei should choose what we do, you know, since it’s her birthday.”

I don’t know what Sehun expected me to say when Chanyeol looked at me like that— like he wanted to snatch my candy away to throw the hard plastic container at my head. Although I cast my eyes nowhere in particular, they fell on the Sanrio store, which was bright, colorful, and inviting from afar.

“I don’t mind what we do.” Smiling politely like Mom taught me, I promised Sehun, “I’ll be quiet and watch you play that racing game with Chanyeol.” The thing is, I would have been happy to do just that— that’s how much I liked Sehun.

The belief that I said the right thing abandoned me when Sehun bent to level his face with mine. He shook his head. “Don’t be a pushover, Lei. Don’t let people like Chanyeol—”

“Hey!” Chanyeol yelled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Sehun didn’t break his attention from me to answer him. “Don’t let people like Chanyeol tell you what to do.”

“Sehun, don’t brainwash that little kid into being as rude, selfish, and disrespectful as you.”

The days of following Yesung had instilled in me a determination to defend those I loved (and that included Sehun), but I didn’t know how to raise my voice without sounding like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Had I trusted myself to speak, I would have screamed at Chanyeol loudly enough for everyone in the mall to hear. As it was, I could only cut my eyes at him.

Catching my glare at his insults, Chanyeol groaned, “Great! Now you have her scowling at me like some kid from a horror movie!” Matching my temper, Chanyeol scowled and thrust an antagonistic finger at me. “Don’t look at people like that! It’s freaky!”

“Hey.” Sehun grabbed my shoulders. His touch forced me to meet his dark eyes. They weren’t as intimidating as you might imagine, but I almost wanted to look away because of the blushing butterflies that fluttered through my entire body. I could never look away, though— not for long anyway. “What do you want to do?”

I didn’t know. First, Chanyeol made me too angry to think clearly. Then, Sehun stole my breath away, so I couldn’t have spoken even if I had known what to say.

Retracing where my gaze had wandered before— to the Sanrio store— Sehun asked, “Do you want to go there? You like Hello Kitty, right?” When I started to answer, he warned, “Don’t lie to me. She’s all over your backpack, so I know you like her.”t

Reddening because I had been planning to lie in a futile effort to discourage Chanyeol’s pointed stare, I mumbled, “Why do you ask questions that you know the answers to?”

Once Sehun stood upright, he towered over me. “I don’t know.” He started walking toward the Sanrio store, and (of course) I followed without hesitation.

Chanyeol refused to follow, though. Glued to his place by the food court, he bellowed, “Waste your day in a little girl store if you want, but I’m not! I’m going home!” I watched Chanyeol, perhaps outraged by Sehun’s indifference, storm away as he had at the S.M. building.

I asked Sehun, “Do you really think Chanyeol is going home?” Minutes had passed, and I was unable to admire the adorable objects lining the shelves because of the guilty writhing in my gut.

It didn’t matter that I didn’t like Chanyeol— I felt bad for ruining his day. What if he had been looking forward to playing that racing game all week? What if he hated me forever for disrupting his weekend plans? No matter what Sehun said, I wanted to be the kind of person everybody— even Chanyeol— liked. I didn’t want to believe that was such an impossible goal.

Sehun breathed, “I don’t know or care.”

Although I admired everything about Sehun, including his ability to always feel (or at least seem) calm, cool, and collected, I didn’t quite want to seem that indifferent. Couldn’t I be strong— resistant to the wind— and kind— bright like the sun? I didn’t know.

I was too young to understand that Sehun, despite seeming cold, was the kind of person I wanted to be: kind and strong. The difference between us has always been that Sehun never cared who misunderstood him. Sehun never cared who liked him. Over time, with age and experience, I would outgrow my craving for approval and admiration. To a fault, I would learn to detest being the object of infatuation; I would struggle to believe in lovesick stares.

But never— never would I stop longing for someone to understand me entirely, supernaturally, beyond words. I would never stop dreaming when I looked up at the moon that one day, someone would find me and accept me in my entirety at a single glance. That dream would haunt me forever.

A word of advice: learn to appreciate yourself. Learn to approve of yourself. Learn to admire yourself. Learn to understand yourself. There is a certain liberty in knowing that others, while they may build you up, cannot determine your worth; do not give others the power to tear you down.

I hope you find that liberty because, in my experience, no person— no collection of people— can ever be enough to fill the voids in an individual spirit. Not only will you live unsatisfied if you try to prove me wrong by searching for someone to fulfill your empty spaces — you may break somebody with the weight of your expectations.

You probably don’t need me to tell you to be careful with your heart; most people have a natural instinct to protect themselves from pain. I’ll tell you anyway, though. And I’ll tell you to be especially careful if somebody is kind enough to trust you with the pieces of the heart they have carried since birth. Nothing— nothing is indestructible. In fact, I’m developing a theory that everything, even what you swear can never break, is fragile.

I’m not encouraging you to live in fear or anything. I just think you should know that everything can break, everything can end, because maybe that will encourage you to appreciate it while it is whole. Maybe that will encourage you to appreciate the story as it unfolds without the bittersweet blessing or curse of hindsight.

Plucking from the self a My Melody plush keychain that fit into the palm of his hand, Sehun declared, “This is cute. Do you want it? I’ll buy it for you.” In his questioning, he turned to face me, and his eyes widened ever so slightly to adjust to my frown. “What’s with that face? Didn’t I tell you to smile?”

I mumbled an apology, shifting from one foot to another as I dropped my backpack at my feet, unzipped it, and packed away the cotton candy I was too nauseated to eat. “I just feel bad that Chanyeol left.”

“Well, don’t.” When his simple advice or instruction failed to lighten my frown, Sehun drew a deep breath and tried to speak softly. It didn’t quite suit him. “I think he’s in the arcade, having a blast playing whatever he wanted to play.”

Regardless of whether Sehun said what he truly thought or what he imagined I wanted to hear, I believed him wholeheartedly and, smiling a small smile, I fixed my bag onto my back.

“Now, do you want this little bunny or not?” He smiled at me. For once, when faint laugh lines formed around his mouth, there was no mistaking his smile. It didn’t quite suit the image of Sehun that I held in my mind, but it suited the image of him that I held in my heart. “If you don’t want it, I’ll just buy it for myself.”

Giggling at the mental picture of handsome Sehun walking around with a pretty pink key chain, I said “We should both get one! I’ll get My Melody because she’s my favorite, and for you I’ll buy Badtz Maru because—” I held the black plush up to Sehun’s face— “you’re twins!”

Narrowing his eyes and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie, Sehun transformed into a human identical to the stuffed cartoon penguin. I laughed so hard at their resemblance that I forgot to mask my gap.

“You’ll buy it for me?” Sehun’s eyebrows shot up. I nodded passionately, brushing my bangs into my eyes. “Didn’t you hear me earlier? You need to let your seniors pay your way.”

I didn’t like that advice. Sehun tried to snatch Badtz Maru, but I held him protectively against my chest, arguing. “It’s a birthday present for you, Sehun! You can’t buy your own birthday present!”

Birthday gifts must have been the only exception to Sehun’s rule about always making seniors pay; he didn’t argue about Badtz Maru again.

Although Sehun didn’t seem too happy that a ten year old purchased something from the Sanrio store on his behalf, after he paid for the My Melody plush and a stack of pens, a case to carry them in, and notebooks I promised (lied) that I didn’t want, we sat on a bench outside the shop so he could a.) give me the bag containing my gifts and b.) fasten the Badtz Maru keychain onto the backpack he carried to training everyday.

Staring down into my gift bag, I mumbled, “I don’t think I gave you enough, Sehun." I liked him much more than the worth of a silly keychain.

“Gifts don’t work that way,” Sehun said flatly. “They aren’t a competition.” As if to silence me when I opened my mouth to whine, he smiled again. “Thank you.”

Because my heart jumped into my throat, I couldn’t say ‘You’re welcome,’ even though it was the right thing to say, even though it was all I wanted to say. I only nodded my head and hoped that he understood the gesture through my silence.

Now that I am remembering this, I wonder if he still has that backpack. I wonder if he ever uses it these days. If he does, I wonder how worn it must be today.

I happen to know for a fact that the Badtz Maru keychain is now attached to his key ring all these years later. It’s old and faded and not quite as cute as it once was, but he won’t let me replace it.


	3. The Girl Who Wouldn't Let Go

**Sehun’s POV**

In pre-debut days, before we were even grouped together, Junmyeon was determined that trainees should bond, so he wrote these little schedules of nearby events and sent them out in group messages. Owing to his busy university schedule, Junmyeon rarely went anywhere with us himself. He was absent that night in the drive-in too.

Although I was sixteen, I wasn’t especially eager to drive, so I didn’t mind when Minseok claimed the driver’s seat. Because I respected Luhan too much to complain when he bounced into the passenger seat, I quietly squeezed into the backseat where— as the youngest— I was sandwiched between Chanyeol and Kyungsoo.

Objectively, it was unfair that I was forced into the smallest seat because of my age. I get that Kyungsoo was older, and that was why I didn’t demand to trade seats. Still, I think that it only would have been right for him to take the middle seat because he was the shortest. I wasn’t really one to argue against rules, traditions, and societal roles, though, so I just folded my hands in my lap and decided that if ever I were the oldest person in the room, I wouldn’t get a big head. I wouldn’t abuse my power. I would be fair.

My members like to joke that I’m disobedient and border on disrespectful, but that’s not true. To tell you the truth, spending my Friday night in the drive-in with Chanyeol talking loudly in my ear wasn’t my idea of a good time, so my presence alone testified to my respect for Junmyeon before he was even the leader.

I wasn’t trying to be rude or disrespectful when I pushed Chanyeol out of the car as soon as Minseok parked. My legs were just aching from being cramped in the back seat, so I was eager to stretch and climb into the bed of the truck, where I could massage the knots that formed in my muscles. My eyes instinctively rolled at Chanyeol’s dramatized howls of pain as he tripped over gravel; he shouldn’t have taken offense.

As I eased my back against the cool metal wall of the truck, stretching my legs before me, Minseok smiled. His smile was always timid in those days. His voice was so quiet that my ears had to strain to make out his words. “Sehun, do you want something from the concession stand?”

Groaning at the thought of standing, I asked, “Are you going to pay for me?”

Having recovered from his trip, Chanyeol laughed as he sat next to me. “What a cheapskate!”

I didn’t think anything about what I said until I heard Kyungsoo’s faint snort of a laugh while he pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. Look— I firmly believe that seniors should pay for all expenses, and I still abide by that rule whenever I’m a senior— but I didn’t really know Minseok well enough to expect anything from him. All we had in common was that we knew Junmyeon.

Tugging my wallet out of my pocket, I prepared to hand it over with the explanation that I was too tired to walk with him after the full week of training, but Minseok wouldn’t accept my money. “Of course I’ll pay for you!” He was almost too nice. Sometimes, I don’t trust people like that, or I worry that someone will take advantage of them, but I was never worried about Minseok. “Just tell me what you want.”

I fit my wallet back into my pocket and shrugged. “I’m not picky.” Chanyeol laughed again— roaring right in my ear— and I cut my eyes at him. We were always friends, I guess, but we were very different people, and that’s why he was always on my nerves. “Just get me something sweet, please.”

Minseok nodded and, after listening to requests from Kyungsoo and Chanyeol, he took off with Luhan toward the concession stand.

Although too many hours had passed since the sunset for it to be bright enough to read, Kyungsoo held a book up to his face. He always liked to look smart, even when nobody was paying attention to him. Dropping the book to glance at me over the pages, he remarked, “You don’t seem like you would have a sweet tooth.

I blinked at him, never really caring much for people who speak in metaphors. A part of me wanted to tell him to speak plainly, but he probably wouldn’t have humored me anyway, so I bit my tongue. Besides, it didn’t matter what he meant.

Kyungsoo blinked back at me. It was obvious that he was sizing me up. That didn’t bother me so much; I just didn’t know what he thought he could discover about my character from my vague snack preferences. It’s foolish for people to attach meanings to insignificant things, but that’s something people do best.

I probably wouldn’t have responded to Kyungsoo even if Chanyeol hadn’t interrupted my thoughts to ask, “So, what movie are they playing?”

It wasn’t such a bad question. Because I only went to please Junmyeon, I didn’t know any specifics. Noticing that Chanyeol and I were looking to him, Kyungsoo answered, “ ** _Beauty and the Beast_** ,” with a smile. He liked getting to share his knowledge.

“Like, the Disney movie?” I asked. 

Kyungsoo nodded sagely, and Chanyeol lowered his head, whining, “I didn’t realize we were here to watch a little girl movie!” He was a little too obsessed with being macho those days. If you ask me, a hyperfixation on manliness is pretty lame.

Kyungsoo glared at Chanyeol. “Animation is not exclusively for children.”

“Dude.” Chanyeol returned his glare— sharpened it. “It’s a princess movie! It’s marketed to little girls!”

“Don’t you think you’re being narrow-minded?” Kyungsoo phrased his criticism as a question, maybe, because Chanyeol was technically his senior. “ ** _Beauty and the Beast_** explores significant themes about sacrifice, superficiality, the nature of love—”

Regretting that I hadn’t pushed through my fatigue to walk with Minseok and Luhan, I tore my eyes away from Kyungsoo and tried to will myself deaf to his monologue as I tinkered with our portable speaker. Upon finding the station broadcasting the audio accompanying the images projected on the towering screen at the front to the lot, I frowned at an obvious problem.

I interrupted the debate to announce, “This is in English.” Even when I squinted, trying to distinguish the finer details on the screen, there were no captions to be found. When nobody responded, I added, “I don’t understand English.” 

Chanyeol nudged my ribs and joked, “Does anybody?”

Kyungsoo rolled his eyes. “Just appreciate the art of animation, Sehun.” 

I huffed at Kyungsoo’s pretentious attitude, “How am I supposed to appreciate something I don’t understand?”

“Well—” Kyungsoo’s eyebrows knit together, and I knew that he was considering my words too deeply again— “you’ve seen the movie before, right?”

Before I could respond flatly that (obviously) I had, Minseok returned, carrying armfuls of snacks that he dropped in the center of the truck bed along with the bright announcement, “Look who I found!”

I don’t know who I expected to find when I glanced over at him, but judging from the drop of my jaw, I hadn’t expected to find Lei clinging onto Luhan’s arm. I hadn’t expected to see her beaming up at him as if he hung the moon. 

When Luhan gestured for her to climb into the truck before him, she gasped, “Where did Heechul go? One second, he was standing next to me, and the next—” Her head turned from side to side as if she couldn’t imagine how she wound up at our truck. 

As stupid and irresponsible as it was, I could have forgiven her for losing Heechul in her starry-eyed pursuit of Luhan. After all, she was just a kid. But I couldn’t forgive Heechul for losing her. Who knows what could have happened if Minseok and Luhan hadn’t been there to lead her through the dark? All I knew was that after that night, I wouldn’t be able to look at Heechul without confronting the urge to roll my eyes at his carelessness. 

While Chanyeol, who never liked Lei for whatever stupid reason, stiffened at my side, Kyungsoo dropped his book to wave at her. “Hey, Lei!” 

My eyebrows twitched. How did Kyungsoo know her? Glancing from Kyungsoo’s joyful wave to Chanyeol’s scowl to Minseok’s small grin to Luhan’s dimpled smile, I realized that Lei wasn’t a stranger to anybody. Except for Chanyeol, she had managed to charm everyone into being her friend despite the age difference. 

It would have been weird to be jealous or possessive of a kid’s attention— even Lei’s— but there was something weird about recognizing that I wasn’t the only trainee she knew well enough to greet outside of the agency. It shouldn’t have been such an epiphany. I knew I wasn’t the center of the universe or anything. I knew that before we ever met, she was well acquainted with real idols. She was loved by real idols. 

She just always had this way of looking at me that made me feel— I don’t know. I don’t like talking about this kind of thing. I guess that moment was humbling. I guess Lei continued to humble me when she settled into the space next to me only to excitedly chatter to Luhan in rapid-fire Mandarin. Despite my basic understanding of the language, I couldn’t quite keep up with what they said between giggles. 

I guess I had always known that Lei wouldn’t cling to her crush on me forever. I guess I knew that I had been hoping for that day to come quickly, but now that I thought it had arrived, I felt weird. It wasn’t that I wanted her to like me or anything. I guess the issue was that if she had outgrown me, time really was passing, and it had done so without my permission. Nobody is ever that comfortable with time. 

When Lei and Luhan fell silent just long enough to glance at me before laughing again, it was obvious that they were talking about me. The tips of my ears probably burned. 

“Yeah,” I understood Luhan as he nodded at Lei, “he is pretty handsome.”

Oh. So that’s still what she thought of me. Weirdly, I was relieved. Some things would probably never change. Maybe Lei would always think I was handsome. Maybe no matter how many times I told her not to flirt, she would do what she wanted. Maybe people should learn to find comfort in constants. 

Probably because she seemed so happy, chewing through a chocolate bar as she talked to Luhan, probably because I was kind of (just a little) flattered, I swallowed the fading urge to lecture her. I instead listened to Chanyeol growl, “Look, Minseok, I don’t care where you found her. I just know that she can’t stay here.”

Although Chanyeol hadn’t said her name, Lei was sensitive to his criticism. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she said in a small voice, “I should probably go. My mom is probably worried about me.”

Kyungsoo was only trying to be helpful when he offered, “We’ll help you find your parents.” He wasn’t trying to knock all the air out of Lei’s chest. 

She ceased her efforts to climb down the side of the truck, collapsed at my side, and wheezed. I had seen Lei upset before, but never in my life had I seen somebody look so wounded by mere words— words that weren’t even harsh. Blinking at her, I understood: Lei didn’t have parents.

We never talked about her family. I would never know how to approach that topic— and I didn’t know yet that her mom was the idol who never debuted. I could just tell from her labored breathing that she didn’t have a father. That’s why she followed her mom everywhere. That’s why she sat alone at that table by the vending machine every day. That’s why she claimed Super Junior as her family, and that’s why they protected her: they were filling a void. 

Had I believed that an embrace could mend that kind of deep wound, I would have wasted no time in slinging an arm around her shoulders to brace her against everyone’s stares. I didn’t believe that, though, even if I wanted to, so I just laid my arm over the edge of the car, cutting my eyes at Chanyeol (because he was on my nerves, and we were only in this situation because he couldn’t be nice to Lei for five seconds) and Kyungsoo (because, despite his good intentions, he prodded at Lei’s wound and made it impossible for me to ever overlook the scar again). 

I said, “I don’t think we should rush to return Lei to whoever abandoned her at the concession stand.” I think I was angry. My hands were balled into fists, and my jaw was so tense that my words were almost unintelligible. I’m not sure, though; I’m not that experienced with anger. 

Even before her breathing hitched at the word ‘abandoned,’ I should have known that I said the wrong thing. I wasn’t trying to make matters worse. I didn’t know what to say. I could only grimace at my mistake after the fact— after I couldn’t snatch the words back out of the air. 

Luhan playfully tugged on one of Lei’s twin braids and, after earning the faintest grin, he said, “I think we should keep Lei! At least until the movie ends.”

Well. If you put me at that awkward stage— no, even me on my best night— next to Luhan, I guess it’s clear who any kid (or maybe any girl at any age) would prefer. We weren’t even in competition, and I felt like Luhan was winning. How stupid. 

Nodding enthusiastically, Minseok agreed with Luhan, Chanyeol groaned, and Kyungsoo insisted (despite the fact that the entire drive-in was a dead zone) that we should call Lei’s parents, but Lei didn’t respond to any of them. She didn’t even seem to hear them. She only looked at me with big eyes. 

Did she want me to tell her what to do? I guess that was something I did often enough without being asked, but— for the first time in a while— I didn’t know what to say. 

Unsure of what to do with the authority she always entrusted to me, I cast my eyes toward the screen and fidgeted with the speaker. “Hey, Lei.” I didn’t glance at her, but I could still feel her eyes watching me. I know she wasn’t looking for fault. I know that she was just admiring me the way only a kid can. Still, I squirmed. “Can you translate this movie for me?”

Once I looked at her, and she understood that I was encouraging her to stay— resolving within myself to help her find her mom and Heechul once the street lights turned on at the end of the movie— she smiled. Her gap was now replaced by the metallic glint of braces. I guess I was just glad that she could breathe again. 

Lei had just started to nod her head when a shriek broke through the quiet night. “Why don’t you shut the hell up? If you’re so invested in how this fairytale ends, I’ll tell you— the girl falls in love with the beast! He falls in love with her! And it’s beautiful! Now, get out of my way! I’m looking for my kid!”

In the moments before I realized that the shriek belonged to her mom, while the guys and I spun our heads in search of the conflict, I clutched Lei’s arm and pulled her behind me so I could shield her. In the event of a real emergency, I don’t know how effective my body would have been as a shield, but I wasn’t really thinking too deeply. At some moments in life, you act purely on instinct. That was one of those moments. My instinct was to protect Lei from the screaming woman. 

In hindsight, even now that I know that there was no real threat to our safety, I am proud of my instincts. 

Heechul’s voice preceded him. “Kimberly, you have to calm down.”

Recognizing Heechul’s voice, I figured that Kimberly must have been Lei’s mom’s name. My forehead wrinkled as I tried to fit the name with her face. It was weird, I guess, because I had never heard it before, just like I had never heard her yell. 

“Calm down?” She laughed one of those hollow laughs. The scary kind. “You leave my child all alone at the concession stand, and you have the nerve to tell me to calm down?”

Heechul must have been stupid to argue with a panicked mother. “I told you, she wasn’t alone! She was with two handsome young men—” Minseok and Luhan, I assumed— “and from how she lit up while talking to them, I assumed that they were friends!”

“So you just left her there?”

“I didn’t mean to!” I don’t know how Lei’s mom resisted the urge to punch Heechul’s face that must have coursed through both of us with comparable intensity. “Besides,” he added, “Lei is, like, a black belt in taekwondo, so if she was in trouble—”

“She is a little girl!” Lei’s mom screamed to drill the rather obvious reminder into Heechul’s thick skull. Some kind of desperation ripped through her voice and caused Lei to tense under my grip. 

Something about the frown I found on Lei’s face when I glanced back at her and the fear in her mom’s voice spurred me to action. “Come on, Lei.” I ushered her out of the bed of the truck, offering both of my hands so she wouldn’t trip. “Let’s go find your mom.”

Her small, cold hands trembled in mine, and as I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, it dawned on me: she was afraid of the dark. She tripped once or twice because her eyes were fixed up on the sky, probably searching for the moon and stars. 

Once we found her mom and Heechul after a few minutes that felt like eternities because of the silence and her palpable fear, I thought they would never stop thanking me for being, as Heechul said, a knight in shining armor. 

“You’re welcome,” was the only thing to say. I guess I meant it because something like pride spread through my chest and pulled my lips into a smile even though it was dark and nobody could see it. 

When I released her hand, Lei mumbled, “Well, I guess you’re leaving now, right?” Although I couldn’t quite make out the features on her face, I imagined from her tone that she must have been pouting. Without even waiting for my reply, she said, “Goodnight, Sehun. Thank you for helping me find Mom and Heechul.”

Mostly because I wanted Lei to be happy— and I realized that somehow, just by being around, I made her happy— I raised an eyebrow at her. “What are you talking about? I told you— I need a translator, and nobody back in that truck knows English. Where you go, I go.”

Hearing my excuse for tagging along, neither her mom nor Heechul objected. Breathing another sigh of relief because Lei was safe and sound, they led us back to their car. As Heechul finally started to apologize for losing Lei in the first place, nobody noticed that Lei was bold enough to reach for my hand again with the whispered excuse, “I don’t want to get lost again, Sehun.”

I gave her a stern stare— the one I tried to reserve for the lectures about acting appropriately around boys— and I know she must have felt it. I know she must have been able to see it even in the darkness when she looked up at me, but she wouldn’t let me go. 

I guess because I started it by holding her hand first, I guess because I didn’t want her to get lost again either, I guess because I wanted to be some comfort even if I couldn’t cure her fear of the dark, I guess because I didn’t want to risk driving the smile from her face, I just let her do what she wanted that one time. 

That one time would become two times and then three and then a hundred and then a thousand and then a million until I didn’t know how to tell her no anymore, until I didn’t want to tell her no anymore, until I didn’t know what to do when she wasn’t bold anymore, until I didn’t quite know what to feel when she didn’t look at me first anymore. When I walked with her through the night that was too dark to find any stars or even the moon, I swear I never imagined that she would grow into somebody that I _**love**_ in the heart-fluttering, gut-wrenching, world-changing kind of way. 

Then, Lei was just a kid who deserved a protector, and I was just one of many who tried to overfill the place of a father who never should have left her. 

As I walked with her, deciding what I would say to Chanyeol when he would inevitably curse me for ditching him (again) for Lei, I told myself that I wouldn’t have been able to find my way back to the truck anyway. And it wasn’t a lie, I swore as Lei’s translation of the movie— complete with unique voices for each character— captivated everyone in her mother’s car. 


	4. The Boy Who Couldn't Give More

**Lei’s POV**

When I turned twelve, I was officially cast as an S.M. trainee. For many reasons, I would rather not describe every trial and hardship. I don’t want to tell you every high and low, so I will just tell you about what stands out as the worst and (somehow) the best day of training. 

I’m sorry if you think this approach isn’t entirely honest. There are just some things that I would rather not remember. Plus, I worry that if I detail everything that ever troubled me, you won’t be able to understand that I was, in my own way, happy. I hope you understand me. I hope you believe that I am happy— that I have always been as happy as I can be.

I was probably naïve to believe that I would find a real friend in the training rooms full of people closer to my age. Environments like the one in which idols are trained aren’t exactly conducive to healthy relationships, if you know what I mean. Everything was a competition. Everybody wanted to be the best dancer, the best singer, the best rapper, the best visual. 

Everybody except Mark Lee, who was content with being his best. I would never tell him this because he would probably get the wrong idea, but I admired him first. It was never a crush. I just wanted to possess his passion, his optimism, his ability to smile through every challenge. 

Because of Super Junior’s influence, I didn’t struggle with dancing, singing, and rapping as much as some of the others. By no means was I perfect or anything. My pronunciations were always weird because of my accent and my braces. I could probably count on one hand how many times an instructor praised me. Talent-wise, I was average. I could have passed on to my debut under everyone’s radar if I didn’t look so different. 

Even though I was among the youngest trainees, I towered over the other girls. While they were petite, I was naturally muscular, and my dedication to taekwondo only added definition to those muscles. My hair, although long and dark like everyone else’s, fell in tangled curls over my shoulders. While my braces were closing the gap in my front teeth little by little, my teeth were still way too big for my face. At age twelve, the only beauty standards I met were credited to my cartoonish eyes and pale skin. 

Anyway, there was never a moment for as long that I can remember that I didn’t feel different because of my appearance. At twelve years old, I think the last thing anybody wants to do is stand out— especially for looking the wrong way. It was uncomfortable enough when I cursed myself for looking the way I did; it was worse when others noticed the differences and started to point them out. 

I guess I always knew that I wasn’t popular. Because most of the girls were older than me— and none of them were quite as inviting as Taeyeon or Amber— I didn’t quite know how to befriend them. Heeding Sehun’s advice, I didn’t talk to the boys under any circumstances. Everybody probably thought that I was mute or that I didn’t understand the language well enough to speak. 

Still, even though I didn’t have any delusions about my popularity, I wasn’t quite prepared to hear what they— the girls— thought of me. 

I looked like a chipmunk. I was a giant. My hair looked like a bush. My pale skin made me look like a vampire— and apparently not in a cool way. I was fat. 

That last one always bothered me because in all my years of self-criticizing, I never once thought I was fat. Yeah, my cheeks were full and I wasn’t crazy about looking like a super tall baby because of that, but my body— I wasn’t overweight. And even if I had been, why should that warrant commentary from people who never bothered to say a word to my face?

The most insulting part was that the girls would drop their voices just slightly into half-whispers. They would speak Korean quickly, obviously assuming that I didn’t know the language, assuming that I hadn’t lived in the same country as them for most of my life. 

Trying to follow Sehun’s advice, I reminded myself that some people wouldn’t like me. I told myself that was okay. I fixed my eyes on the shiny wooden floor and kept them there through every practice. **_Just keep your eyes down_** , I told myself, **_and they will stop staring._**

Even when they kept staring, I knew that I wouldn’t stand up to those girls. How could I have argued when I agreed that (visually, at least) I was as far from perfect as an idol could be? I think that if I could have disagreed with them, even internally, their voices wouldn’t have followed me. 

Mark didn’t want to argue with them either, but he must have heard them too. Every day that we had co-ed training, he would sit next to me and, between stretches, say, “You’re beautiful, Lei.” 

At first, I eyed him cautiously, unsure of what to do with the attention. Nobody who wasn’t Mom or Super Junior or any of those “safe” people had ever called me beautiful before Mark did. 

It wasn’t that I didn’t believe Mark. There was always something endearing about the obvious fact that he couldn’t have lied even if he wanted to. The issue was just— what did it matter if Mark thought I was beautiful if I couldn’t smile at my reflection? What good were Mark’s compliments when his voice didn’t follow me into the dark? 

Sehun told me that it doesn’t matter if people dislike me. During trainee days, I learned that it didn’t matter if people liked me either. Maybe that’s toxic. Maybe it’s untrue. But it’s what I believed for years. 

The mean girls’ voices followed me because they spoke my insecurities. If I could have learned to admire myself, then Mark’s voice would have followed me. Even then, at twelve years old, it was clear that Mark’s admiration was no substitute for self-love, so — please don’t judge me too harshly for this— I didn’t want him to look at me with little hearts in his eyes. His feelings served no purpose, and, to my absolute horror, everybody noticed how Mark looked at me. 

Everybody noticed that we spoke exclusively in English. Everybody who couldn’t understand us misinterpreted our very casual friendship as a young budding romance— even our dance instructor, who warned us once when we were partnered together, “Be mindful never to meet each other’s eyes while performing for an audience. Be mindful!” 

Mark and I flinched as we heard for the first time, “You don’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted because she was distracted by romance!”

No, I decided then as the instructor looked solely at me, I didn’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted. 

Squirming under scrutiny whenever I stood too close to Mark, I understood why Sehun warned me to stay away from boys. It doesn’t matter what your intentions are; people see only what they want to see or whatever will justify their hatred. That’s another lesson I learned as a trainee. 

Anyhow, I think I was doing a pretty good job of hiding the fact that I was absolutely miserable behind a carefully crafted blank stare until the day I overheard one of the girls saying, “You know, she’s only becoming an idol because her mom is a manager!”

That was true enough that, even if I had the nerve to bicker back, I couldn’t have truthfully argued. I lowered my head so I wouldn’t catch my blush in the mirrored wall. 

I hadn’t even lowered my backpack before another girl said, “Yeah. I bet she’ll get to debut before all of us because—” She glanced over to see if I was paying attention. Satisfied when I broke our eye contact to stare down at my sneakers, she continued, “her Mom has been sleeping with Heechul for **_years_**. Who knows how many executives rely on her for favors?”

When I looked up from my feet, I saw red. Before I even processed the words, I had grabbed the girl around her shoulder, fingers digging small bruises into her bare skin exposed under her tank top, and growled, “Who are you talking about?” as if I didn’t know.

Even if she hadn’t been trembling like a leaf as she stared up at me, too terrified to speak, I wouldn’t have let her answer. “Just go back to calling me chipmunk cheeks or bush head or vampire or fatty or Mark lover or whatever makes you feel clever and better than me.” My entire body flushed, and I hoped that I was burning her with my fingertips. “Don’t say another word about my mom ever again, or I’ll—”

I didn’t even get to threaten to knock her crooked teeth down her throat. Johnny, who was my senior by about four years, carefully pried me off of the girl, tutting, “Ladies, ladies, isn’t training challenging enough without all this fighting?”

It was.

“Can’t we all be friends?”

No. I never could have been friends with those girls, and I said so plainly, snatching my hands out of Johnny’s gentle grasp to cross my arms over my chest. You’ll find that I can hold a grudge like no other. I’m not saying that’s a good thing; it’s just a fact.

“We don’t want to be your friend either,” the girl spat at me. “We don’t want anything to do with the daughter of a glorified hooker! Just look at you.” Her glare trailed from my head down to my toes. “You’re wild. I don’t wonder where you got it from, but at least your Mom knows how to hide—”

Had Johnny not been standing there as an insurmountable barrier, I would have punched that girl, and I probably would have been kicked out of the agency, and my behavior would have reflected poorly on Mom. Fortunately, while I was too furious to think clearly, Johnny was there to wrap me in an almost suffocating hug, trusting that I wouldn’t strike him in my rage.

“Just take the day off,” he urged quietly. “I’ll tell the trainers you got sick, and—”

I started to shake my head and insist on peacefully standing my ground before a sharp pang of nauseated hunger pierced through my stomach. Owing to my lack of appetite those days, I hadn’t eaten much for dinner the night before, and I had woken up too late to eat breakfast that morning.

Johnny promised, “I’ll take care of these girls. Just go and take some time to yourself, please.”

When he wiped my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, I realized that I was crying. I ran out of the room purely to escape the embarrassment of having been reduced to scalding tears by something so stupid in front of so many other trainees. It was a failed attempt; embarrassment followed me into the hallway.

Eager to try again to make me feel better, Mark chased after me, calling my name. “Are you okay?”

As I slumped down at the table by the vending machine, I thought the answer was obvious. Still, I took the chance to lie. “Yes.” When I brought a hand up to touch my cheek, I was relieved to find that I wasn’t crying anymore.

I had an epiphany: even if I’m not strong, I can pretend to be. Clenching my jaw, forcing my hands into fists under the table, I said, “You should go to practice, Mark, and you should stay away from me.”

“What?” His eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because,” I forced myself to look away from his pained expression, “you don’t want people like those girls to talk about you. They’ll bully you if you keep being nice to me.”

“I don’t care.” Mark stood across from me, but he wouldn’t take a seat. He shifted his weight from one foot to another.

I said, “Well I care.” I really did. I didn’t want to put the target on Mark’s back. “I don’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted,” I swore without knowing her whole story.

Mark scratched at the back of his neck. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. I just know that I like you, and I’m not gonna pretend that I don’t to please anybody.”

Too annoyed by Mark’s stubborn resolve to like me without knowing me to feel flattered, I kind of rolled my eyes.

“Does that mean you don’t like me that way too?” Mark wheezed, and I understood that he had a crush on me. On some level, I guess I had always known, but I tried to ignore it because I didn’t want to hurt him.

No, I didn’t like Mark like that, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him— not when he looked so sad. Thinking of Sehun (as usual), I mumbled, “I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to like anyone like that.”

Slowly, Mark nodded, and I think he understood that I would never return his feelings. “Well, if it’s okay with you, I’ll just keep liking you anyway.” Without waiting for me to reply that I didn’t think feelings worked that way— I didn’t have to give him permission to like me— he bowed and ran back to practice, carrying most of the burden of his unrequited feelings.

I was sitting there, feeling small because I had given in to my temper, feeling cruel and cold because I rejected Mark’s pure infatuation, when Sehun sat across from me. I didn’t meet his eyes as he laid his head down on the table.

He asked, “What’s up with your face?”

For some reason, that question set my eyes watering again. I tried to wipe the tears before he could notice, but nothing got past Sehun. His eyebrows twitched. “What’s wrong, Lei?”

My chin dimpled as I lied, “I’m just hungry.” Well, it wasn’t quite a lie. My stomach growled loudly enough for him and everyone in the building to hear.

Perhaps eager to believe that I wasn’t troubled by anything too serious, Sehun nodded. “That’s nothing to cry about.”

I watched him spring from his seat and pound a fist against the side of the vending machine. A pack of chocolates fell out without payment. “Here you go.” He tossed the candy before me. When I only stared at it, he said, “If that’s not enough, and if you’re not busy, I was about to go to McDonald’s. You can come if you want.”

That must have been the first time that I didn’t burn to be in Sehun’s company. I didn’t exactly want him to rush to leave, but I also didn’t want him to stand there looking at me that way— like I was falling apart. It’s impossible to please me when I’m upset. I frown if you try to talk to me about my feelings, and I frown more if you try to act like everything is okay.

More than anything, I wanted to be alone in my room where nobody could see my flaws. I couldn’t even console myself with the thought that these feelings would pass within a few years by the time I debuted because it was starting to sink into my mind: the realization that every day for the rest of my life, people would try to tear me apart with their eyes. They would try to weigh me down and drown me with their expectations. There wasn’t any way to eradicate that overwhelming sense of dread because it was rooted too deeply in reality.

I would just have to try to silence it— the dawning knowledge that I would always be more human (a wounded one, at that) than idol— until Mom found me at the table by the vending machine as she always did at the end of long days. Then, I would be too afraid to say anything on the ride home. And then, not too long after we walked through the door, she would probably fall asleep on the couch again, and I wouldn’t have the opportunity to tell her about the unnamed monster tearing me apart even if I miraculously found the courage to string words together. I would just turn the television off, drop the remote on the coffee table, run upstairs to my room, and tuck my radio into bed so I could fall into restless sleep while listening to SHINee because they were real idols. I would comfort myself by imagining that my voice could become for others what Onew’s, Jonghyun’s, Key’s, Minho’s, and Taemin’s— especially Taemin’s— were for me: inspiration and healing.

I wouldn’t have wanted to repeat those girls’ insults to Mom anyway. Imagining her disappointment if I confessed to almost punching someone, I sank. It was best to just keep biting my tongue. I would get used to the taste of blood, and soon the pain would scar and numb.

Looking back, I can see that I kept too much to myself. I went through too many trials alone because I was determined to become strong and self-sufficient even if that meant being forged by fire. In some ways, now I think that strength is a little overrated. Maybe I could have been happier— maybe my shoulders wouldn’t have felt so heavy had I talked to Mom or Heechul or Yesung or Donghae or anyone. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

Once upon a time, I prided myself on my honesty, but it’s easy to be honest when your feelings are simple. It’s easy to be honest when you feel the right things— happy when you’re supposed to be happy, excited when you’re supposed to be excited, sad only when you’re supposed to be sad. It was too hard to shake the fear of being a burden. I never wanted to be a burden.

Despite deciding to carry my own weight, I wasn’t strong enough. That’s why I dropped pieces of myself left and right to become something like the blank canvas my instructors wanted.

Sehun broke through my spiraling thoughts with the promise, “I won’t make you talk about it. I just—” he gnawed on his bottom lip— “I’ll feel like trash if I leave you here alone when you’re hurt.”

Sehun rarely talked about feelings first. His shoulders were tense; the muscles along his jaw were protruding. Obviously, he was making himself uncomfortable in an attempt to console me. Half numb with shock, moved by his concern, I nodded and (after grabbing the candy) followed him outside where we boarded the bus.

This is a little embarrassing to admit following my promise to work through my feelings alone: our bus wasn’t even five minutes down the road before I blurted, “I almost punched somebody today.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback, but he tried to hide his surprise and/or disapproval behind his natural stoic expression. Taking the candy from my hand, he opened the box, popped a colored chocolate into his mouth, and asked, “Why?”

“A girl called my mom a hooker.” I tried to replicate Sehun’s calm, even tone.

Sehun choked, and I felt somewhat vindicated in my rage when his pale face flushed crimson.

“I tried to be good. I tried to be a proper lady,” I promised. “I tried to be strong like you said. Remember my tenth birthday, when you explained that some people are just gonna dislike me, and I can’t shed tears for everyone?”

“Yeah.” Sehun nodded once he noticed that I was looking to him for a response. He returned the candy to me. “I remember.”

“So I tried not to shed tears when they made fun of my hair, my teeth, my skin, and my weight. I told myself that even if they’re right—”

Sehun interrupted to say, “They’re not,” in a tone so stern and authoritative that I never could have argued back.

I nodded, cheeks burning pink. “Well, even if they were, and I’m not saying that I believe them,” I added when Sehun cut his dark eyes at me— “I told myself that being pretty isn’t that important anyway.”

“It’s not,” Sehun agreed instantly. “Being pretty on the outside isn’t important at all.”

Without thinking, I grumbled, “That’s easy for you to say. You’re the most handsome person on the planet.” I didn’t care that he gave me that warning glare. I was telling the truth, not flirting. Heart pounding, I maintained, “It’s easy to say that beauty doesn’t matter when you’re beautiful.”

Sehun frowned at me. “I didn’t say that beauty doesn’t matter. I said that being pretty on the outside isn’t important at all, and I’m right. Superficial beauty is overrated, and nothing as subjective as the words ‘pretty’ and ‘handsome’ can ever define a person.” Turning his gaze out the window, he concluded, “Or, at least, they shouldn’t. Those words are too small.”

It occurred to me that Sehun was right. I was in danger of becoming the kind of person who couldn’t look past my reflection long enough to find anything worthwhile inside. Shame washed over me, and hot tears spilled onto my hands, which formed fists around the candy box.

“Please don’t be disappointed in me, Sehun. I promise that I’ll work harder to believe what you say.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I swear that I never would have tried to fight about anybody’s opinions about my appearance. I’m not that shallow. It’s just— they talked about my mom, and she—” my voice wavered— “she’s everything to me. If my whole world was just one person, it would be her. She— you know, there aren’t many people who only deserve compliments, but she’s one of them.”

It didn’t matter that those girls were probably too cowardly to ever talk about Mom where she, Super Junior, or any of the many idols who loved her could hear. They had no right to insult Mom when she worked to the point of exhaustion, when she greeted everybody with her sparkling smile, when she treated everybody with kindness, when she was the most beautiful person in the world— inside and out. They had no right to ridicule her when they wanted to hurt me.

“I know,” Sehun said softly.

When I looked up at him, he was looking down at me, eyebrows knit together in anger or concern, and for half a second, I thought he was mad at me. My stomach sank until he swore, “I’m not disappointed in you, Lei. I told you not to care what people say, and I also told you not to be a pushover. I’m—” He wrestled with his words before deciding, “I’m proud of you. Not just for following my advice, but for working so hard to become an idol. I know it’s not easy.”

He raised his hand, and I held my breath because I thought he was going to hug me, but his hand stopped short and landed atop my head. He patted my hair twice. “Maybe just— um— try to avoid fist fights. It won’t be good for anybody if I have to get involved.”

At first, when Sehun retracted his hand, his protective anger was real and frightening. It lit a fire in his eyes. But then he made a spectacle of popping his knuckles, and we broke into a fit of laughter that lasted so long that we missed our stop.

It wasn’t often that I heard Sehun’s laugh. It sounded more youthful and golden than you can probably imagine. Still, as happy as I felt even with our mistake, I apologized as I finally stuffed a piece of chocolate into my mouth. “I’m sorry we missed the stop.”

“Don’t sweat small stuff like that,” Sehun instructed, shrugging. Moments later, he said, “I’m sorry too.”

I cocked my head to the side and wondered aloud, “For what?” but Sehun didn’t respond with words. He gave me this look that I had never seen before— one that held about a thousand foreign words that I wanted desperately to understand, but my conscience whispered that it was wrong to ask for a translation.

It seemed that Sehun was sorry for a lot, but I couldn’t understand why. From the day we met, he had been an unlikely sort of friend— a protector— and all crushes aside, I truly loved who he was in my life. Beyond the childish infatuation that made my heart race and painted my pale cheeks pink, there was a warm love that shaped every memory of him— a love that shaped aspects of my own character.

It didn’t matter that he would never look at me the way I looked at him; maybe no two people ever look at each other in the same light anyway. He didn’t have to love me or stay by my side as an almost imaginary Prince Charming. I was just grateful that we crossed paths, even if the way we met determined that he would always see me as a gap-toothed nine-year-old. I was beyond happy to sit beside him for a moment where I could admire him up close. I was content, knowing that I would always remember my first crush as a good person.

Of course, I didn’t tell Sehun anything like that. He didn’t appreciate that sort of sentiment. While talking to Mark, I decided that I would never date because I couldn’t stand the whispers or the stares. Looking at Sehun, though, I knew that I would forget that decision in an instant if ever we woke up one day (when I was older, of course) and Sehun wanted to love me.

If that day should come, I wouldn’t notice any stare because I would be too busy admiring his every feature. I wouldn’t hear any whisper because I would be too busy listening to his every word.

For that moment, however, I was fulfilled just by smiling at him because I believed that feelings don’t have to be expressed with words to be real. Feelings don’t have to be reciprocated to be real. Sehun didn’t have to give me permission to love him; I always had, and I always would, and nothing could change that.

“I’m about to say something very mushy,” Sehun grimaced, “and I have a feeling that you’re really gonna like it, so write it down or record it in your memory because I won’t repeat myself no matter how many times you beg.”

Holding my nose up in the air, I asserted, “I never beg.” Sehun laughed, and my heart swelled, and I prayed with all of my soul that someday somebody with a warm, gentle touch and a kind, bright smile would make his heart swell too.

“You’re like your mom,” he said, meeting my eyes. He didn’t say it as an insult like those girls did. He said it with a faint hint of a smile— the smile that imprinted forever on my heart. “You’re one of the people who only deserve compliments.” Then, as if he couldn’t tell from my unrestrained smile that he had given me the greatest praise imaginable, Sehun turned his gaze back out the window and mumbled, “I’m really sorry that I can’t give you more.”


	5. The Boy Who Said ‘Always’

**Lei’s POV**   
  
  


Thirteen is a landmark age for everybody, I think. When I was thirteen, my life took off in a positive direction, but there were some drawbacks.

Sehun finally made his debut as an idol, attracting the attention and admiration that he always deserved. This wasn’t such a bad thing in itself, but I had seen less and less of him in the weeks leading up to his debut, and I almost stopped seeing him altogether once he was officially a member of EXO. It was a little sad, only being able to see him from the opposite side of a screen when he had been before my eyes for all those years, but I was happy that his dreams were being realized.

Maybe missing him would have been more crippling had I not been so busy with my own projects. Every morning, Amber and I sprinted through the halls of studios downtown to catch idols for interviews before their promotional stages. By the afternoon, I was back in the training studio with people closer to me in age and experience, working toward our shared goal of becoming real idols too.

**Why I Experienced A Surge In Happiness At Thirteen:**

  1. I spent most of my time with Amber, who I admired deeply.
  2. Speaking to such a vast collection of idols every morning taught me what I was training for: the opportunity to entertain others and express myself through art.
  3. Johnny, Mark, and many of the others who would go on to form NCT took me under their wing on co-ed days.
  4. Joy looked out for me on girls’ training days.
  5. With Johnny, Mark, the rest of NCT, and Joy on my side, the mean girls were much less vocal in their bullying.



I know that this is kind of silly since I swear I believed Sehun when he taught me that others’ approval (or disapproval) didn’t define me, but I remember smiling from ear to ear when Amber showed me all of the supportive comments from people who called themselves my fans just from watching me interview idols with her. So many people cheered for me even though I hadn’t debuted or shown any hint of talent yet.

Even then, it occurred to me that Amber had carefully combed through all of the comments only to show me the uplifting messages, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to dwell on criticisms that I couldn’t see— especially not when she had gone to such lengths to inspire me. Besides, having just been freed from my braces, I embraced almost every opportunity to smile and boast my lack of a gap.

Those days weren’t necessarily easy or perfect, but they were simpler (at least in part) because I did not yet have to manage my image on social media. In my dealings with the public, I followed Amber’s lead and trusted that everything would work out. Now that I am older and I better understand those responsibilities, I hope that I wasn’t a burden to her.

The thing is, Amber never treated me like a burden. In many ways, she almost acted as if we were equal— as if she didn’t outrank me in age and experience in the industry. Still, she was responsible, protective, and considerate of me, all without ever boasting about what she did for me. Those days of following her lead shaped me more than I can ever explain.

If you imagine the perfect older sister, I promise that Amber was better in every way. She proved that every day and especially when we went to Japan for the S.M. showcase and she coordinated that belated surprise for my birthday.

  


Because that week in Japan marked my first break from training since I started a year prior, the trip was something like a vacation for me. My only responsibility was to help Amber vlog backstage. Once I was done with that, I reported to Super Junior’s dressing room, where Mom had set up a big screen for me to watch all of the performances without getting in anybody’s way.

I was alone, but I had long since learned to entertain myself. When a song I especially liked played through the speakers (spoiler: being first and foremost S.M. trash, I liked every song), I would set my popcorn down at my feet to stand and emulate the choreography while singing along.

Suffice it to say, then, that I was having the time of my life before the morning Amber tiptoed into my hotel room to tug me out of bed before the sun had emerged from its place tucked behind the clouds.

I knew that we were going somewhere special when she gave me a gift bag containing a pair of bubble gum pink overalls. To avoid waking Mom, who was sprawled out and snoring into her pillow, Amber whispered, “Happy Late Birthday! Hurry up and change into that. They’re waiting for us downstairs.”

Amber had been careful not to name who was waiting for us downstairs, but I wouldn’t have believed her if she had. Never in a million years would I have dreamed of meeting Key and Minho in the hotel lobby. They stood, bickering, by the front doors.

I guess Amber wasn’t expecting to see Key either. Furrowing her brows at him, she demanded, “What are you doing here?”

Key scoffed, “Good morning to you too,” but I caught the ghost of a dimple in his left cheek and figured that he was one of many who had a **_thing_** for Amber.

She seemed a little oblivious, wrinkling her forehead as she crossed her arms. “Where is Taemin?”

“Yeah.” Minho hurled fire at Key with his eyes as he repeated, “Where **_is_** Taemin?”

Key shrugged. “Fast asleep, I guess.” And Minho rolled his eyes.

My face, red enough from being so close to members of my all-time favorite group, darkened with the repeated references to Taemin, who must have been my ultimate bias. I breathed, heart pounding as I was trapped somewhere between relief and disappointment at the realization that he wouldn’t be joining us.

Too overwhelmed by Key and Minho and Taemin’s mere name, I didn’t even notice that Sehun was standing in a darkened corner until he said, “It looks like it’s going to rain soon. Shouldn’t we try to beat the rain?”

Something I can’t understand washed over me. Never in the years of knowing Sehun had I ever embraced him before, so I don’t know what I was thinking when I ran to him and threw my arms around his waist. It couldn’t have lasted for more than a second. As soon as I realized what I was doing, I released him, blushing harder than I had in my entire life.

Thankfully, Key and Minho were too focused on Amber (who was too busy trying to figure out where Taemin was) to witness my utter humiliation. The only witness was Sehun, who only blinked at me. A corner of his lips flicked upward as he waved. “Hi.”

He must have been in a good mood that day. When I finally gathered the courage to meet his gaze, he wasn’t glaring at me. Maybe because I was embarrassed enough without his lecture, he didn’t bother to correct my behavior.

I imitated his tiny smile and waved back. “Hi.”

And then I felt it all at once: how much I missed our everyday interactions— that I was no longer the only one who thought he was the most handsome person— that while I had naturally memorized his every word and every expression, while I had appreciated our every scattered moment, **_something_** about Sehun was past tense.

And I had never known to prepare myself for the feeling that I was saying goodbye to something that I couldn’t name but loved nonetheless. I probably couldn’t have prepared myself anyway, and I wouldn’t have wanted to risk ruining the days that are now memories by anticipating the end, but I was so caught off guard by the influx of emotions at the sight of Sehun that (all day) I struggled to catch my breath.

I couldn’t quite hear Minho tattle to Amber that Key had stolen Taemin’s ticket to Sanrio Puroland— I couldn’t quite smile about the surprise destination or mourn the missed opportunity to meet my ultimate idol— over the screaming thought that they were slipping away — or maybe (deep down I knew) they were already gone: the days of sitting by Sehun’s side.

It’s sad that so many details of what could have been our last golden day are lost in my memory. Even as I sit here, trying to dust off the memories off with my pen, all I can recover is the all-consuming fear that I was losing him who was never mine.

There is something sad about the passive love I had for Sehun. No matter how we changed, no matter how many days passed, no matter how the trees and flowers wilted and blossomed, come rain or shine, whether we spoke every day or never again, I would always want to see him just one more time. Always, even if one of us should try to strike it dead, even if one of us should try to forget, my one hope would be to see him happy.

The sad part is: I never willingly gave him my heart. Sehun had it from the moment we met. While something about that is very sweet and childlike and beautiful, it is cruelly unfair. Had my heart ever been mine to give, I probably would have given it to him anyway, but that’s not the point.

I read once that you don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I never got a say in who hurt me. If I had gotten a say in who hurt me, though, I probably still would have chosen Sehun. Like that book said, I probably would have liked my choice.

Anyway, here is what I remember. Here is what I can never forget:

Minho and Key, in their competition for Amber’s attention, had trampled on Sehun’s last nerve, so he wordlessly gestured me away from the group, toward a cotton candy stand.

Nobody noticed the almost childlike smile that grew on his face as he asked, “You like the little bunny, right?” He pointed to bright pink cotton candy shaped in My Melody’s image, and I nodded, too stunned that he remembered my favorite Sanrio character to speak.

When you love somebody the way I loved Sehun, you imagine that there is some deep significance to everything they say and do. Maybe that’s foolish. Or maybe something perceived or imagined is somehow real too. I don’t know.

Even on the most superficial level, I appreciated the smile he concealed behind the tall cotton candy before he entrusted it to me.

Chest heavy and aching for reasons even his apparent happiness couldn’t drive away— wondering if it was normal to want to cry even in the presence of someone who makes your heart flutter— wondering how it was possible to miss somebody right in front of me, right in arm’s reach— I started to say that the candy was too cute to eat.

Then, feeling like that was a weird thing to say, I decided to ask Sehun to take a picture so I could remember this moment later when my thoughts weren’t quite so bitter and only sweetness remained, but I never got the chance.

Dark storm clouds rolled in overhead and spilled cold rain on us without warning. By the time Sehun pulled me under some pastel pink and blue umbrella, much of the candy had dissolved into a shapeless pink blob.

“Sorry,” Sehun muttered as if he had caused the rain. He held his hand out, and I don’t think I would have given him the spoiled candy had I known that he would toss it into the trash bin without hesitation. He promised my devastated expression, “I’ll buy you another one once the rain lets up.”

Frowning, but not quite on the verge of tears, I mumbled, “I didn’t even get to take a picture.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “What a weird thing to say. You were never meant to photograph it. You should be whining, ‘I didn’t get to take a single bite.’”

I said, “People mourn tragedies differently, Sehun,” and I know he wanted to laugh at my dramatic reaction, but he was kind enough to bite back his snickers. And although I had forbidden myself from saying so, when I glanced over at him, and my heart tremored, I blurted, “I miss you.”

Again, he remarked, “What a weird thing to say.” Often when we spoke, Sehun looked away from me, toward something in the distance, but he had been eyeing me strangely since I hugged him in the hotel lobby. I always regretted hugging him. “How can you miss me when I’m standing right beside you?”

Why couldn’t he ever just accept how I felt? Always, always, always, I was embarrassed after revealing my feelings to him, but no shame was ever enough to remind me to bite my tongue. Something about him always compelled me toward honesty.

My face flushed, and I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re just not the same person you used to be.” Sehun grunted as if I had knocked the breath out of him, but I knew that I wasn’t strong enough to do that, especially not with words. “Maybe I loved—”

I hadn’t meant to say that. I meant to say ‘liked,’ but ‘loved’ came out of my mouth instead. I carried on as if I had made no mistake (and maybe I hadn’t), “— who you were as a trainee, and now—”

Why had I said anything at all? I made no sense. My gaze fell somewhere around my feet, somewhere in a shallow puddle. “Well, we never really were equals, huh?”

“I’m not different,” Sehun claimed instantly as if he somehow understood my gibberish.

I argued, “I’m not saying that you tried to change. You just have because that’s what people do.”

“Not me.” I watched Sehun shake his head, but I didn’t look too closely at his face. “And not you either. I’m still me, and you’re still you, so I don’t know why you’re so upset.”

“You really don’t think I’ve changed at all since we met?” I don’t know what I expected. I had always suspected that Sehun would only see me as the nine-year-old he met by the vending machine, but I was somehow disappointed.

Fidgeting under my skeptical stare, Sehun conceded, “Well, obviously some things are different. You’re older and taller. You sound a little different. You don’t look at things with little stars in your eyes anymore, and you don’t walk with your head down like you did last year, but—” He rolled his eyes when I raised my eyebrows to say ‘I told you so,’ — “what matters hasn’t changed.”

Because I didn’t know, I asked, “What matters?”

Sehun shook his head, finally looking away from me as he stuffed his fists into his pockets. “If you don’t know, there’s no point in telling you.” His voice, usually so calm and collected, burned me. I gasped at his temper, and he swallowed his frustration to say, “Words can’t convince anybody that you care about them.”

My jaw dropped. “You care about me?” The answer must have been obvious from the way Sehun cut his eyes at me.

When my cheeks turned red and I looked away, he quietly said, “I don’t like saying these things, Lei, so you’re going to have to put two and two together to realize that I’m always going to look out for you.” I didn’t think it was possible, but his voice dropped even lower when he breathed, “You’re going to have to realize for yourself that it hurts my feelings when you accuse me of changing.”

I almost choked on the humid air. “Your feelings?”

He frowned at my reaction, a thin line forming between his eyebrows as he drew them together. “Yes. I have them too, you know, even if I don’t spill them everywhere.”

Apparently, I had accidentally touched some nerve, but I didn’t think that justified Sehun’s harsh words. “I don’t spill my feelings everywhere.” 

I glared at him, thinking that I would have apologized for hurting his feelings if he hadn’t set out to hurt mine too. “I only spill them to you because—” He gave me that warning stare, but I wasn’t going to say anything bad, so I frowned at him for always expecting the worst from me— “I trust you.”

Sehun seemed surprised that I could admit something so nice in the midst of what had become an argument. His eyes widened, and his expression softened as he reminded, “You shouldn’t trust boys.”

Almost teasingly, I lied, “I don’t really see you as a boy, though.” Sehun snorted, so I maintained, donning my most solemn expression, “Really, I don’t! I see you as more of a guardian angel.” Even when he was mean for the briefest second, I only thought good things about him.

“A guardian angel?” Sehun repeated, chewing on his grin. “I should warn you that the more you expect from somebody, the likelier they are to disappoint you— even if they really don’t want to.”

“You can’t disappoint me,” I said, “because I don’t expect anything from you.” Even while living in the moment, I knew that Sehun didn’t believe me, but I promised anyway, “I won’t get mad at you even if you get tired of looking out for me. I get that most people don’t mean words like ‘always’ and ‘forever’ and ‘never.’”

“I wish you didn’t know that,” Sehun said so quickly that I almost thought I imagined is voice. “I mean those words when I say them, though.”

That was the first time that I didn’t believe him wholeheartedly even though I wanted to. I didn’t think that Sehun was purposely lying or anything; I just think that some words are too big— too infinite— for people to understand well enough to use truthfully. It’s an accidental dishonesty. It’s enough that somebody wants it to be true. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

“Okay.” I nodded as if that would bridge my unbelief and the growing ever-present distance between us that he couldn’t feel yet, that he would probably (hopefully) never feel.

With nothing left to say, we stood together under the umbrella, waiting for the storm to pass so we could step back out into the day, but it rained for as long as I can remember. It rained even on the way home.

Yes, I’m still sad that I didn’t get a picture of that moment when I held the cotton candy in those seconds before the storm, but I think it’s sadder that I don’t have a single picture of Sehun from those days. I guess I should take comfort in the fact that the details still haven’t been forgotten; maybe that means they never will be.


	6. The Boy Who Reminded Me

##  **Lei’s POV**

At fourteen, life changed for better or for worse. 

When I walked into co-ed vocal training, Mark caught me by the door. Grabbing both of my hands and jumping up and down as he greeted me with a wide smile, he cheered, “We have a guest instructor!”

I followed his gaze to the front of the room to find none other than Onew— SHINee’s Onew— humming scales. Too starstruck to allow my gaze to linger on one of my idols, I flinched away from Onew, grinning faintly at the sound of Mark’s giggles. At that exact moment, my eyes fell on who must have been the cutest boy I had ever seen. Again, I flinched away. 

“You must really like him.” Mark was referencing Onew. 

Fearing that Mark had caught me admiring somebody our age— somebody who, frighteningly, could have admired me back— I left my gaze on the floor and spoke despite my blush. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Huh?” Mark retraced my stare and smiled knowingly when he gathered that I had been transfixed by a boy— I was blushing about a boy— a stranger, no less. He didn’t quite tease me, but his poorly muffled chuckle was embarrassing enough before he waved the cute boy over. “Come here, Jaemin!”

The boy, Jaemin, became much cuter the closer he stood to me. “Hey, Mark.” He wore a sparkling smile that didn’t falter or fade when his eyes fell on me. My heart skipped several beats, and I almost screamed because I had only known Sehun to affect my pulse, because I only trusted Sehun to touch my heart. “Who is your friend?”

Mark placed his hand on my shoulder, and he quickly retracted it when I stiffened under his touch. His smile didn’t fade, though. “This is Lei!” 

Bowing and giggling as my blush grew under his stare, Jaemin asked, “Just Lei?” Because he didn’t know me well enough to know my last name, Mark joined Jaemin in looking to me for an answer. 

I hurriedly bowed to Jaemin, meeting his eyes for a brief second, and nodded profusely. “Yeah. I’m Lei. Just Lei.” I guess I thought I was protecting my identity. I guess I thought I was holding Jaemin, who— bright smile and all— threatened to break through the walls I was building to protect my image. 

You have to understand: back then, I was not at all afraid of holding a broken heart. I didn’t know to be afraid of past tense love. My self-imposed (Sehun-encouraged) total dating ban was initially enacted only to discourage others from eyeing me disapprovingly; I didn’t think to protect my heart. 

“Well, ‘Just Lei,’” Jaemin winked, and my stomach flipped, “I’m Na Jaemin, but you can just call me the love of your life.” 

Mark groaned, and I tried to force my trembling smile into a straight line as I mimicked Sehun’s voice, feigning utter disinterest in Jaemin as I asked, “How old are you?”

Poking his chest out, Jaemin boasted, “I’m thirteen!” It wasn’t wasted on me— the realization that, for the first time, I was the oldest in one of these heart-fluttering conversations. 

(Note: I was older than Mark, but that doesn’t count because a.) I was only a few months older, and b.) sadly, Mark never made my heart flutter.)

Before I could respond to Jaemin— likely to succumb to his charms— Heechul’s voice broke through the scattered pre-practice chatter. Because I hadn’t seen him or heard his voice for much of his two years of military service, I smiled at the first sight of him standing atop a chair at the front of the room. My smile quickly crumbled, however, as his words filled my ears. 

“So, I heard some of you are curious about my love life!” Heechul’s bulging eyes bore into those girls who never liked me, and I understood all too quickly that this— the most humiliating moment of my life (so far)— was a belated response to their insult directed at Mom. 

Maybe I could have managed to feel bad for those girls had they ever apologized. They hadn’t even grown out of glaring at me or tripping me at every opportunity, so it was clear that they weren’t even slightly sorry. The only real difference between that day and the past was that I had grown out of caring about them. I had grown out of straining to hear their muttered thoughts. 

I wasn’t proud of Heechul for causing a scene (as usual); I just didn’t squirm for those girls because I have always believed that when you choose to unapologetically, intentionally speak cruelly, you have to accept the consequences— even if they aren’t immediate. Maybe, in some way, I thought that Heechul’s outburst was an act of justice. 

Maybe justice isn’t usually comfortable. Shrinking, I looked at Onew, hoping that he would silence Heechul so we could start practice. Why couldn’t justice have been served some other day when I wasn’t talking to the cutest boy in the world? Why couldn’t justice have been served on a day when I wasn’t scheduled to learn from one of my idols? 

Onew only stared up at Heechul with wide eyes, mouth agape in some surprised smile. Apparently, he wouldn’t dare to disrupt the hand of justice. 

Heechul continued, “First of all, if you want to survive in this industry— and, to be frank, I’m not convinced that you have what it takes— learn to mind your own damn business. Don’t make enemies out of senior artists because they can crush you, and— let me warn you right now— I’ll go gangster on all your asses!”

Murmurs rippled through the other trainees, and I hung my head in shame because, even through his insanity, I was associated with Heechul. 

His eyes narrowed. “Now, here’s some wisdom to carry through life whether you debut or flunk out of training: the vast majority of your relationships will NOT be sexual!” Since all of us were teenagers who liked to giggle at naughty words, the immature among us swallowed their amusement for fear of attracting Heechul’s scorn. 

“My relationship with Manager Kim—” 

When stares turned to me at the mention of Mom’s name, Heechul raised his voice to turn heads toward him. “My relationship with Manager Kim is one of these many non-sexual relationships in my life! So the next time you try to fit our names into your filthy mouths, don’t spread lies! And if you choose to spread lies anyway—” 

I would have hated to be on the receiving end of Heechul’s glare. 

“— well, just suffice it to say that I don’t tolerate liars.”

The threat, although vague, stunned everybody into silence. Heechul might have taken advantage of the silence to lecture everyone all day had Mom not filled the doorway, brows arched and drawn together in utter confusion as she took in the sight of Heechul precariously balanced on the chair.

Eyes rounding as if he were a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Heechul flinched and jumped off of the chair, drawing gasps from me, Mom, and everyone else who was concerned about his injury. He stumbled, barking, “Come on, Lei! You can’t learn anything else from these people!”

Nobody had ever been more wrong than Heechul was in that moment. Burning partially from embarrassment under Jaemin’s stare, but burning mostly from the desire to learn from Onew, I shook my head until my eyes fell on Mom. From her place in the doorway, she quietly beckoned me with one quick subtle gesture. 

I tried to obey her— I promise— but my feet were somehow stuck to the floor. Like an idiot, I would have stood there, motionless, wide-eyed, and slack-jawed, had Heechul not dragged me out of the room after wrapping his hand around my arm. 

What’s worse: Kyungsoo, Baekhyun, Chanyeol, and— of course— Sehun sat together at the table by the vending machine. As I briefly met Kyungsoo’s, Baekhyun’s, and Chanyeol’s pale-faced expressions— as I watched Sehun massage his temples in small circles the moment I walked out of the studio, I did not doubt that they had heard all of Heechul’s speech. I tore my eyes away from them as I ripped my arm from Heechul’s grip. 

Probably because they were friends, Mom decided not to try to talk Heechul out of his fit. I followed her lead and devoted my energy to forgetting the numb embarrassment washing over my entire body. 

I filled the silence with the obvious fact: “I can never go back to training.” The other trainees would never let me live past Heechul’s outburst, and after his allegation that I had nothing left to learn, the instructors wouldn’t care much for me either. 

“You can’t learn anything else from them anyway!” Heechul repeated so passionately that I wouldn’t raise my voice to argue. I only looked away from him to focus on the tiled floor beneath my sneakers, wondering how he could have determined such a thing when he had never seen me dance or heard me sing. 

Hooking an arm around my waist, using the other to hold her clipboard, Mom promised, “I’ll do everything in my power to keep you from having to face the aftermath of Heechul’s fit.”

In hindsight, I guess I should have realized that meant Mom would advocate for executives (or whoever makes those decisions) to allow me to debut, but I was so anxious about the weeks of missing practices that Mom caught me off guard with her announcement over dinner (on a rare night that Heechul was absent) of the “exciting” news. Figuring that I should have been happy to debut so soon, I forced a smile to match Mom’s, and I didn’t release a single tear until I was alone in bed with my radio. 

Don’t get me wrong: I was happy. I was proud that my hard work in training had resulted in the debut that was the dream of so many people. Still, I couldn’t escape the thought that two years of training wasn’t long enough. Two years weren’t enough to prepare me for what would (hopefully) be a lifelong career. Even if two years had been enough to teach me the necessary skills— and I wasn’t sure that they were— they definitely had not been enough to teach me the necessary confidence. 

Had he been there with me that night, Sehun probably would have told me that confidence only comes with experience, and I would have frowned because I wasn’t ready for experience.

My primary stress was that the agency decided (for some reason that was never relayed to me) that I should not debut with a group as I had always imagined. I would be alone. There would be no older member to look up to and learn from. There would be no more talented or experienced member to distract the audience from my many weaknesses while somehow making me better by association. There would be no unbreakable family-like bonds formed by teamwork— shared pressures and joys. 

On stage, I would stand by myself, just like I sat by myself at the table by the vending machine, just like (even with Joy and the NCT boys) I stood in the corner of the training room with my arms crossed tightly over my chest, just like I laid alone in my cold bed as soon as I finished dinner after long days. I don’t know when I got so lonely, but I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t felt that cold almost numb tingling eating its way through my gut and chest and brain. I knew it couldn’t have been that distant— my last genuine smile and the next— but I couldn’t remember, and I couldn’t imagine. 

That’s why I couldn’t quite smile when I wandered into my dressing room on debut day. Even when my face nearly collided against Sehun’s chest, my lips were tucked into some unappealing shape that was neither a frown nor a smile. I wish I had tried to smile up at him even if it was fake, even if it was strained and painful. 

I didn’t even look at him, though, because I was afraid that his face would remind me of the melted cotton candy. Or maybe I was afraid that he would find my fears swimming in my eyes. Or maybe— most likely— I was afraid that he wouldn’t notice that anything was remiss, and then I would have to confront that he, who I still admired most, didn’t know me better than anyone else did. 

The thing is, I wasn’t done idolizing Sehun yet. I wasn’t ready to wake up from my daydreams about him, and with every word— with every glance— the dream was fading. I know that it isn’t right to idolize people, but I (selfishly) thought that if I couldn’t have a friend, I could at least cling to the idea of Sehun as the person who knew me best. 

Although I had been too distracted by my labyrinth of thoughts to ask Sehun why he had been in my dressing room, he said, “I was looking for you, but you showed up later than I expected.” 

Our timing was never in sync. And I didn’t know how to reset the clocks. It was probably impossible, but I would have liked to try. 

Before I could wonder why he had been looking for me, Sehun scuttled down the hall, explaining, “I have to get ready for my performance, so— um— good luck.”

I wanted to thank him, but he was gone. Thinking that I probably wouldn’t have been able to find my voice anyway, I frowned and tiptoed into the dressing room where I found it sitting on the vanity: a baby blue jewelry box. I wouldn’t have dared to open it were it note for the note atop it reading: 

_**Lei,** _

_**Never forget that so many people have been looking forward to your time to shine. Wear this whenever you need to be reminded of that.** _

_**— Sehun and Donghae** _

From the scrawled handwriting and our brief encounter, I gathered that the note had been written by Sehun before reading the postscript: 

**_P.S., The clock charm is from me, and the crown charm is from Donghae._ **

I probably would have given anything to learn why they had chosen those particular charms, but I never would have been brave enough to ask. I guess the meanings don’t really matter. No, I don’t believe that. I guess it’s okay to leave some things as a mystery. 

I guess all that matters is that I wore that bracelet on stage that day. I wore that bracelet every following day for five years, never once dreaming of taking it off until I could no longer bear its weight. 


	7. The Girl Who Cried

**Sehun POV**

Lei had no idea how famous she was just a year after debuting. Somehow, she didn’t seem to feel all of the eyes on her. She danced like nobody was watching. 

I guess I shouldn’t blame her. It wasn’t until everyone performed together at the SM Town concert that I realized that nobody saw her as a nine-year-old gap-toothed kid anymore. She wasn’t that kid anymore. She wasn’t just the little girl who liked me too much anymore. She wasn’t just my friend anymore. 

I feel like an idiot writing these things down because it always should have been obvious that she wasn’t ever just any of those things. She, like everyone, was a complex person. She was always more than my perception of her. I just didn’t realize it before she became an idol, too, and— although this is wrong— I wanted to close my eyes and keep her as the figure in my mind and memories that I was content to never understand. 

Suddenly— overnight, it seemed— this girl who I always thought was special because of our connection was special to everybody. Not just to me. Not just to Super Junior. Not just to the sea of roaring audiences who, at least, would never know her and see her and care for her away from the stage like I did. Other idols were taking an interest in Lei, and they didn’t care to be quiet about their budding admiration. 

Baekhyun was not least among that growing group of admirers. In front of everybody, he knelt before her, and— giggling stupidly at the surprised smile that spread across her face— he kissed her hand and addressed her as “Your majesty,” into his microphone. 

Of course, the audience screamed, and everyone around them cooed because (although Baekhyun looked like a moron) Lei was adorable. For the briefest second, I couldn’t control any muscle in my face, and I could only passively hope that nobody filmed the grimace that preceded my forced smile that didn’t come close to reaching my eyes. 

I would have to talk to Baekhyun later, I decided while walking backstage. Lei was only fifteen, so his behavior was not appropriate. It wasn’t right to kiss her— not even on her hand, not even to amuse fans, not even to make her smile the way she did. 

Everything was changing. Nobody likes change. Even when it’s necessary or the result of growth, change is hard to embrace fully without fear. And I guess if you want to know the truth that I never wanted to admit even in the darkest, quietest recess of my mind, I will admit it now that enough time has passed: I was afraid that Lei was right that day at Puroland. I was afraid that one day— probably soon— she would find herself unable to look at me the way she had every day in the past. 

Don’t ask me why it was so important for her to love me when I didn’t love her back. I don’t know why. It doesn’t matter why. 

Lei didn’t follow far behind me. From where I stood secure in the stage’s wings, I heard Jongin, who rarely complimented people he didn’t know well, cheer, “You have really good stage presence, Lei!” I heard her giggle. 

My shoulders tensed, and although there was no hint that any eyes were on me, I tried to conceal my reaction by crossing my arms over my chest. I should have been happy to witness her receiving the praise she deserved, but I wasn’t. I was uncomfortable. 

Was I worried that she would also look to me to compliment her only to be disappointed when, despite the desire to uplift and encourage her, I could say nothing? Was I worried that as she met more people like Jongin and Baekhyun (who followed Jongin’s compliment by boasting, “You were so cool out there!” and giving her a high five), she would altogether move on from me? 

Yes and yes. 

I know that I’m a hypocrite and an idiot. Every time I’ve held Lei’s attention, I’ve wished it away. Then, when I think that I’ve finally succeeded in convincing her to look elsewhere, I swear that I would do anything to turn back time. It’s a foolish cycle. Even if I should turn back the clocks, I would never find a time when we appreciated each other in the same way at the same time. 

Our entire relationship— even still— has been one mistake, one misstep after another, and somehow I have always felt that I am the expert on how to treat Lei properly. Stupid. Immature. Clumsy. Hypocrite. 

If ever you’re frustrated with me, just know that I was almost always aware of the fact that I was being stupid. I just didn’t know how to break the cycle. I didn’t know how to break the habit. And as much as I liked Lei— as much as I wanted her to be happy— as much as I wanted to somehow be a part of that happiness— I almost resented her for making me reflect on myself so often. I almost resented her for making me think about feelings, which— I’ve told you before— never mattered much to me. 

That’s not true. People can easily develop the habit of saying, ‘That doesn’t matter,’ when they really mean, ‘I don’t understand. No matter how hard I try, I can’t understand.’ I am somebody who would rather say, ‘That doesn’t matter,’ than admit a shortcoming. I don’t like that about myself, but I don’t know how to change it. 

That’s my problem. It always has been. It was never fair to blame Lei for any of my discomforts, but I often thought that if she wasn’t always trailing so closely behind me, then I wouldn’t always have to monitor the nature and extent of my attachment to her, and then my headache would have gone away. 

Of course, the headache never could have fully subsided when Chanyeol was so determined to speak into my ear. After Lei joked on some variety show that I was her ideal type, Chanyeol developed an annoying habit (which he has not shaken to this day) of calling her my girlfriend. 

Evidently oblivious to my tense mood, Chanyeol laughed while driving his elbow into my ribs. “Here comes your girlfriend!” The veins in my temples throbbed. “She’s really growing up, huh?”

His jokes— especially the ones about Lei— were never funny, so I cut my eyes at him. “No.” I shook my head. “She’s not that grown up. She’s only fifteen.” 

Because I had never before bothered to respond to his jokes, Chanyeol blinked his widened eyes at me. He probably would have told me to lighten up, and — despite feeling all too aware of my overreaction— my scowl would deepen, but neither of us had the opportunity to resolve our conflict. 

Blissfully innocent, Lei approached me with her smile that wasn’t dim even away from the stage lights. She would have looked nothing like the child who was my first friend at S.M. were it not for the dimple that formed in her chin as she rose her hand to wave at me. “Hey, Sehun.”

I wanted to say that she had performed well; that I wished we spoke more often (and less frequently in these dark, stiff, professional settings where I couldn’t quite breathe or feel much like myself); that I was proud of her for becoming a star who demanded everyone’s appreciation; that I was honored to share a stage with her because (aside from being a star) she was my friend; that I, somehow, deeper than words could ever convey, regretted how much had changed— even if change was inevitable, even if change was only temporary, even if these growing pains would someday be forgotten. 

I couldn’t say anything over the lump in my throat except something stupid that I wish I had never said at all. “You can’t keep following me like this, Lei.” My arms were still crossed over my chest. I must have looked like such a jerk. 

Lei’s smile didn’t fade at first. Maybe she was too shocked to understand what I said. Maybe she couldn’t quite hear me over the backstage chatter. Maybe she was too willing to forgive me even when I hadn’t apologized. 

“What?” Her tone was still bright, and I could have pretended that I said any of the many praises I held in that innermost— or was it outermost?— part of my mind. 

I probably justified my cold tone with the thought that I was teaching her an important lesson. “You can’t follow me here. Somebody is always watching.” 

That was true enough. I should have bit my tongue then. Her jaw dropped just slightly, and I could make out the formation of her blush in the dark, but Lei nodded as if she believed me. As if she trusted me. 

Although it wasn’t true, and I had never once felt this way, I tore my eyes from her and said again, “You can’t keep following me. It’s annoying.” 

That’s when she wheezed, and Baekhyun pouted, and Jongin’s brow furrowed, and Chanyeol’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, and I dropped my jaw. I couldn’t understand why I said that. I couldn’t understand how my voice could so easily say something that I didn’t mean. 

All I can think is that I was somehow trying to illegitimize Chanyeol’s stupid joke about her being my girlfriend, but that’s stupid. This is one of those cases where ‘why’ really doesn’t matter. No reason would have been good enough to justify the look I put on her face. 

Instantly, I wanted to apologize, but suddenly— too late— I couldn’t speak. My throat was too tight. I couldn’t even look at Lei; with each glance, my heart plunged deeper into my stomach and knocked my breath away. 

Selfishly, I prayed for her to break the silence. Without considering her discomfort, I was content to let her cross most of the distance between us if that meant I didn’t have to hurt myself to learn how to say sorry. 

Seconds that felt like eternities passed. So quietly that I almost thought I was imagining her voice, she said, “Okay, Sehun.” 

I wished she would have argued like she always did because— then— I probably would have crumbled and said anything I thought might set things right. It wasn’t right to expect her to break my pride, but I was disappointed that she only bowed without saying another word. 

It made me sick to realize that Lei bit her tongue (at least in part) because she knew that somebody is always listening. Somebody is always hoping to catch us at our most vulnerable. Her lips trembled, and that dimple in her chin deepened, but she said nothing to convey her wounded emotions, and I— 

I couldn’t tell myself that I taught her something she didn’t already know unless I wanted to start believing lies. 

Slinging an arm around her shoulders, Baekhyun steered her away. His voice was softer, kinder than usual as he cheered, “Come on, Lei! I hid some snacks in EXO’s dressing room!”

And she didn’t flinch from his touch, and she didn’t look back at me, and I don’t know why I was dumb enough to expect that she would. 

I tried to release my remorse through a sigh, but no matter how many times I filled and emptied my lungs on the aimless walk through backstage halls, I could not forget the way Lei sounded so— so unlike herself when she, for the first time, accepted my words without argument. Why had she chosen then, of all moments, to be obedient? Why, when she had every right and reason to debate, had she turned her cheek with no fight?

Nothing was her fault, yet I explored every avenue of thought that would deny me accountability until the nagging desire to apologize became an urge, a compulsion, a dire need that sent me running to the dressing room where I wouldn’t find her. I only found Baekhyun sitting at his vanity with earphones plugged into his phone. 

Never before had I succumbed to the boyish instinct to throw things in rage, but I — at the adult age of twenty— yanked a metallic round brush sitting atop the nearest vanity and hurled it at a mirror. Miraculously, the mirror hadn’t shattered, and Baekhyun didn’t look up from his phone or flinch at the crash.

I could have pretended that moment never happened had Chanyeol not burst into the room right then, bulging eyes burning through me as he demanded, “What the hell was that about?”

Whether he was talking about the brush incident or the Lei incident, I had no answer. I didn’t worsen matters by stuttering excuses. I just shrugged. 

“That kid liked you!” Chanyeol said— past tense— as if I hadn’t known. “And I thought you were friends or whatever, so why the hell would you put that look on her face?” Tugging at his hair, he dramatically cried, “God, I’m going to have nightmares about her sad face for weeks!”

“You’re really not the best person to lecture me about how to treat Lei.” I glared at him. “You’ve put that frown on her face more times than I can even count—”

Chanyeol yelled, “That’s not the same thing!” and he was right. “I get it. I’m not nice to that kid. I never have been. Maybe I should be a little nicer.” I nodded my head, and he jabbed an accusatory finger at me. “But I couldn’t turn the light off in her eyes like you just did even if I tried. You know why?” 

Turning away from him, I shook my head because I didn’t want to have this conversation. I knew exactly why I could influence Lei more than Chanyeol ever could. I just didn’t understand it. 

“Because she doesn’t _**like**_ me! She **_likes_** you!” Chanyeol’s voice cracked. “She probably thought— like I did— that you would protect her feelings even though you can’t return them!”

I stared down at my hands pressed flat against the vanity, careful to avoid my reflection. “Why are you so invested in something that isn’t your business?” 

As if he had always been Lei’s protector, Chanyeol roared, “You made it my business when you humiliated her in front of me! It’s not okay, Sehun! Even if you were right about people always watching, what’s wrong with them seeing that you’re kind to a kid who, for whatever reason, thinks the world of you?”

Never in a million years would I have wanted to discuss my feelings— especially the ones about Lei that, for some reason, seemed far too private and deep and tangled— with anyone. I especially wouldn’t have wanted to discuss them with Chanyeol, who didn’t even like her, while he was angry. I would have said or done anything to end the conversation. 

I rounded on him and raised my voice. I hated raising my voice. It was exhausting. “You’re the one who made shit weird and awkward by calling her my girlfriend! I don’t even want to be around her anymore because of the weird shit you say!”

“Well, that’s bullshit,” Chanyeol retorted instantly. “If you’re having some kind of issue with your friendship, don’t pin that shit on me!” Then, when I faced him, he softened his voice. “I don’t know why you’re being so weird about a _ **joke**_ —”

“Because it’s not funny!” My face burned as I tried to make him understand, “My feelings for her are nothing like that! Lei is a sweet, innocent kid, and everybody is forgetting that because she’s getting more famous and more beautiful by the day, but I—” I swore— “she will always be that funny, honest, gap-toothed kid to me.” 

Unsure of what to say as my gaze dropped down to my feet, Chanyeol blinked once and then twice. He probably wanted me to explain why it was so important for Lei to remain the child in my memory, but I wouldn’t have told him even if I understood it well enough. 

“If you love her so much,” Chanyeol said, “then why would you ever say anything to hurt her?”

I couldn’t answer. Instead of admitting that I didn’t know— that I was an idiot— that I was sorry— I lashed out at him. “I don’t love her! I just— I care about her a lot.” I sounded like such a moron. 

Chanyeol’s eyes narrowed, and I squirmed because I knew that he was seeing me clearly, flaws and all, for the first time. He looked away, picked at a button on his shirt, and probably felt like the wisest guy on the planet as he said, “I’m not sure who told you what love is or how they convinced you that it’s bad or wrong or scary, but they lied.” 

Making my way to the door as my pulse quickened, I lied. “I’m not afraid of love.” 

Maybe I didn’t know it then, but I was afraid of intimacy. I was afraid of needing somebody. I was afraid of wanting somebody. Maybe I didn’t know it then, but the reason why Lei couldn’t grow up was because then— then what would I say when she looked at me and told me that I was handsome? If she grew up, and she still wanted to hold my hand in the dark, I could no longer push her away, saying, ‘You’re too young. It’s inappropriate.’

Lei couldn’t grow up because, once we stood on even footing as adults, I knew that she would realize that I wasn’t special. I had never been special. Once I disappointed her by admitting that even when she was old enough, even if we felt the same thing at the same time, I wasn’t good enough, everything she ever thought of me would be chalked up to some childhood imagination. 

Once or twice or every moment of those days, I almost managed to convince myself that the best choice was to stand some ways away at least until I learned to be okay with the inability to live up to her daydreams. I almost believed that, to preserve the memories that were too precious to tarnish, it would be best to part ways before I could disappoint her. It was too late to enact that plan, though, I realized as I again walked through the halls. 

All my life, I told myself that it didn’t matter what others thought of me, but it **_always_** mattered what Lei thought. Even when she was nine and I was fourteen, I didn’t really want her to stop liking me. Did it matter because of who she was? Or was I— like everyone— too afraid to wonder what happens when she, who always admired me, changes her mind? 

Something in my chest deflated when I found her leaning into Max outside of TVXQ’s dressing room, rubbing at her eyes. I understood by then that she knew everybody, so I wasn’t shocked to see her with him. I just couldn’t quite breathe because I had always been the one she ran to. I had always been the one she trusted with her feelings. And being as stupid as I was, I understood then that she would probably never again trust me so fully, so innocently, because a.) she was no longer a child, and b.) I had broken some facet of our bond. 

Nobody wants to believe that they have broken something beyond repair, so I told myself that our friendship was indestructible. I don’t know if I ever believed myself again after that. 

Something like rage coursed through my veins when I heard Max ask, “Now, are you going to tell me what made my little wife cry?” He smiled at her, and she mirrored his expression. 

Rather than embracing my guilt— rather than feeling grateful that somebody kind had been there to lift her spirits when I couldn’t— I decided to glare at Max for calling her his ‘little wife,’ knowing well that it was a harmless nickname and that he had known her longer than I had. 

Still grinning, Lei lifted her head, and— unable to budge from my place around the corner— I braced myself to hear her new opinion of me, but she said nothing. Graciously, she shook her head, and Max didn’t press her for information. 

Even after I had been cruel and careless enough to publicly scold her in front of my group members, Lei wouldn’t privately paint me in an unfavorable light. I think I might have felt better if she had told Max that I was the most insensitive person on the planet even if she didn’t believe it— even if she was just speaking from embarrassed anger. The fact that she stood from his side, bowed, and walked away, forcing a smile even as she passed by me— tears refilling her eyes as I met them— made me feel worse. 

I still can’t understand why I didn’t follow her. I guess I didn’t want to see her cry. I know how selfish that sounds, but you should believe me when I say that I wouldn’t have been able to say anything to dry her tears. If anything, I would have made matters worse. 

While I lacked the courage to follow Lei, I somehow had the nerve to storm up to Max, my senior who I swear I respected. I somehow had the nerve to tell him, “You shouldn’t talk to her like that,” as if he hadn’t tried to clean up my mess. 

Max’s eyebrows shot up. “What?” His head went aslant, and his eyebrows met between his eyes as he noted my short tone. I still think it’s a miracle that he didn’t knock me out the moment I opened my mouth. 

This might sound stupid, but I think I almost wanted Max to beat my ass. It seemed that maybe a few slaps would knock some sense into me or that my guilt might subside if somebody would punish me for being an idiot. 

“You shouldn’t call her your ‘little wife,’” I said, using air-quotes, earning a pointed stare from Max. “She’s very impressionable, and she’ll get the wrong idea from things like that. You have to be careful with young girls’ feelings, especially when they trust you.” My voice made me want to vomit. I was really one to talk. 

After drawing a deep breath and carefully studying me, Max nodded. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said even though I wasn’t right; I was an idiot. “I should be careful about what I say, but sometimes— sometimes you’ll say anything to get someone to stop crying. Sometimes, you’ll say anything to make someone smile.” 

Doubting that I would ever be willing to say _**anything**_ to make Lei smile, I sank. 

Max flashed his teeth, smiling as he patted my shoulder. “I’m glad Lei has somebody like you looking out for her.”

Somebody like me? What did that mean? 

“She deserves every happiness, you know?”

I nodded because I did know. 

That day planted the seed of a realization that dawned on me slowly over the years and then— suddenly— all at once when I sat alone on a frozen December night: I was the worst person for Lei to entrust her feelings to. 

A selfless person would encourage her to find somebody who could warmly embrace her every joy and pain. Somebody who could easily string together the words she longed to hear. Somebody who would boast to the world that they loved her instead of running and clinging to privacy in the dark. Somebody who wouldn’t be too embarrassed by romantic gestures to give her flowers. Somebody who would watch the moon and stars with her while gently dispelling her every fear. 

I knew well that I would never be anything like that person. Daily, I told myself that it was foolish to be jealous of somebody who didn’t exist, but—

He did exist. The issue was just that, even as years passed while I held my breath, she had not yet met him. The day when she would find everything she wanted in him was the day I dreaded most because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hold a candle to him. 

And I— I wasn’t a selfless person. I was selfish enough to pray that day would never come. 


	8. The Closet Confrontation

**Lucas’s POV**

I was minding my own business. While I was walking to dance practice in the S.M. building, somebody yanked me into a utility closet. Maybe yank is too strong of a word. Anyway, even though the touch wasn’t exactly rough, I yelped. My heart hammered against my ribcage, and it didn’t calm immediately after I was released.

My fear didn’t fade even when my abductor flipped on the overhead light to reveal his identity. For a split second, I thought my eyes were tricking me or something because I had never seen any member of EXO up close. None of them had talked to me before. Even after blinking over and over again, after my eyes adjusted to the light, Sehun stayed in front of me.

Sehun wasn’t much taller than me, but almost anyone (including me) would have shrunk under his gaze just because of his height. Panic melted into confusion the longer he looked at me.

What did he want? Why was he scowling down at me, sharp eyebrows arched and drawn together, when we had never even met? These weren’t the kinds of questions anyone should ask when faced with the kind of glare he offered me. Even I knew that. So I bit down on my tongue and waited for him to speak first.

“What are your intentions with Lei?” His voice was low, almost a casual sort of whisper. The only hint that he was upset about something was the dark glint in his eyes. His eyes were dark. The only person with darker brown (almost black) eyes was Lei.

Lei’s name, when it fell out of Sehun’s mouth and popped up in my thoughts, made me smile. Something warm spread through my chest as I bragged, “She’s the coolest girl I know!” Even Sehun’s pointed stare couldn’t kill that warmth no matter how hard it tried.

“Is that it?” Sehun raised a single eyebrow. He didn’t look convinced, and I couldn’t understand.

Nobody has ever believed that Lei and I are just friends. Maybe we aren’t. Maybe we never were.

Don’t get crazy! We weren’t in love. It’s just— from the moment we met, we were family. From the moment we met, we were inseparable. Not even her fear of scandal kept us apart because it was clear from day one, from the second we found each other by the vending machine, that we were meant to be friends.

Our relationship was always special. And it never occurred to me that it could have been romantic until Sehun dragged me into that closet, crossed his arms over his chest, cut his eyes at me, and accused me of feeling more.

My mind went blank. No, not blank. Just overwhelmed with reimaginations of Lei— my best friend— that I shook out of my head. My feelings weren’t like that. I mean, they could have been. They were always ambiguous. A heartbeat away from being something that would make Lei run. But I didn’t want Lei to run from me. That was always the most important thing to me; being someone she could count on.

If I liked Lei the way Sehun assumed or feared, he wouldn’t have had to point it out to me in that cold, cramped closet. And even if I had the tiniest crush on Lei, it wouldn’t have compared to whatever emotion set the fire ablaze in Sehun’s eyes.

“Hey.” Sehun snapped his fingers in my face. “Are you going to answer?”

The snapping annoyed me, but Sehun didn’t bother me as much as I clearly bothered him without trying. I wasn’t really a confrontational person, and I definitely wasn’t dumb enough to challenge an official idol as a trainee. There was no option but to answer his questions even though he was determined to doubt me.

Wondering when, where, and why Sehun got so attached to Lei— deciding that he wouldn’t tell me even if I asked— I nodded. “Yeah. She’s my best friend.” I squirmed, remembering his original question. “My intentions with Lei? I don’t have any, I guess—”

It’s like I told you. We became friends so quickly, and I was never really one to map out the future anyway. Still, I had to answer Sehun somehow.

“ — I guess I just want to stay with her for a while. Forever, probably.”

A line formed between Sehun’s eyebrows. “Forever?” He repeated the word like never heard it before.

“Forever,” I said again. Sehun kept looking at me like he wanted me to say something else, so I offered, “If you want, I can ask her if she likes you.” His eyes blew wide, and I almost laughed at having struck the nail on the head.

He grumbled, “That won’t be necessary,” but I could see the pink coloring his cheeks even in the dim lighting, and nothing he said would convince me that he didn’t like her.

“Seriously, it’s not a problem,” I promised. “I’ll just ask her when I go over to her house for our sleepover tonight, and—”

“Sleepover?” He wheezed. All color, even the blush, drained from his face. I nodded, and he shook his head, frowning. “I don’t believe you. I taught Lei better than to have sleepovers. She doesn’t get close to boys like that.”

That was true in most cases, but I was something like a special exception because I would never take the first step in blurring the lines between friendship and— well, I don’t like saying ‘something more’ because I’ve never thought that romantic junk was any better than friendship. I’ve never thought that holding hands or kissing was the ‘next step.’ All I mean is that Lei let me into her world because I never expected to do anything but laugh and watch cartoons.

While reaching for the door, I told Sehun, “She’s close to me.”

There was a tiny change in his expression— like the fire in his eyes flickered— and I knew I said the wrong thing. I couldn’t have taken it back even if I wanted to. One thing was plain to me from the beginning: Sehun didn’t want Lei to be close to me; he wanted her to be close to him. But there was nothing I could do about that.

After that, Sehun glared at me for years. It was obvious that he didn’t like me, but he never said so. I guess he was too polite for that sort of thing. All he said was, “You can go.”

Feeling lucky that he hadn’t yelled at me or punched me in the face— forgetting that I hadn’t actually done anything to bother him in the first place— I hauled ass before Sehun could change his mind. The instructor and other trainees glared at me for being late, but I didn’t really care because it was suddenly obvious why I was Lei’s only close friend. It was obvious why I was the only guy Lei didn’t hide her face from.

Somehow, Sehun taught her to be that way. Guarded. Mistrustful. Lonely. And I wasn’t sure how to forgive him for building the walls that applied to everyone but me— even to good people. I wasn’t sure how to forgive him for causing the wounds that I tried to bandage with laughter. I wasn’t sure if I could.

  


Although Sehun told me not to ask, I had to know if Lei liked him for my own edification. I wasn’t going to try to talk her out of liking him or anything just because I didn’t really like him after the Closet Confrontation as I like to call it.

Because Lei tended to be sensitive about these kinds of things, I approached the topic slowly just in case they had some kind of bad blood. In the months of being her best friend, I had never seen her talk to Sehun, and something in my gut warned me that there had been some kind of falling out.

So I waited until we were alone in an orange tent in the backyard of her house (which was practically mine too) with our plates piled high with s’mores and other snacks provided by her Mom (which was also practically mine too). “So what’s the deal with you and angry brows?”

She raised an eyebrow at me. A corner of her mouth raised slightly. In the beginning, that was the closest she would get to a smile. “Angry brows?” she repeated through a mouthful of melted chocolate and marshmallow.

When our friendship started, I had to talk her into eating junk food, but that night she ate without my urging. I smiled at her progress. “Yeah. Angry brows. You know, Sehun. From EXO.”

“Oh.” Her face turned bright red, and I didn’t have to wonder whether his name was the cause of her blush. Nothing had ever been clearer. Her heart probably fluttered or thundered as she drew her knees up to her chest. “I’ve known Sehun for, like—” she counted out the years on two hands— “seven years.”

“Wow.” I whistled. “That’s a long time.” She nodded. “So he’s, like, your guardian or something!”

“Yeah, he’s something like that.” She pressed her chin atop her polka-dotted pajama pants. “Why do you ask?”

I was almost reluctant to say anything that might threaten an old relationship. Quickly, I explained, “He pulled me into a closet at the agency building today and asked me what my intentions are with you.” Instantly, she frowned, and I rushed to defend Sehun. “I think he was worried that I’m gonna hurt you or something.”

“Well, you’re not,” she said flatly. I would have been happy that she trusted me so much if she had cracked the smallest smile. She dropped a half-eaten s’more onto her plate and combed the braid out of her hair with sticky fingers. “I don’t see how my relationships are any of his business anyway.”

“If you ask me—” I stuffed a s’more into my mouth— “he thinks it’s his business because he likes you.”

Lei choked. “You’re crazy, Lucas!”

“That’s what you always say!” I couldn’t help but laugh at her wide-eyed red-faced expression once she caught her breath because it was an exact copy of the face Sehun made in the closet.

“Do you ever think that I’m right about these kinds of things? I have a better understanding of the male mind, you know.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think you’re right. I think you’re crazy.”

I playfully argued, stealing the half-s’more from her plate, “Well, maybe I can be crazy and right when I say that Sehun definitely has a thing for you.”

She said, “That’s not funny, Lucas.”

And I swore, “I’m not joking or anything!”

But she wouldn’t believe me. She seemed to be chewing through her cheek when she said, “Sehun has always been too old to like me back. He’ll always be too old for me.”

I didn’t respond immediately. I gave her the chance to reclaim her secrets. But even after moments passed in silence, she didn’t try to deny liking Sehun. Then, when she forced an uncooked marshmallow into her cheek, I realized that it wasn’t a secret. She wasn’t embarrassed. She accepted her feelings and the belief that they would never be returned before we ever met.

Something about that made me sad even though she wasn’t quite frowning. I tried to tell her, “He won’t always be too old.”

“I’m sixteen, and he’s twenty-one,” she said matter-of-factly.

“So what?” I shrugged. “Maybe it’s a big gap right now, but someday, five years will be nothing, and—”

“It doesn’t matter.” She spoke so casually that I almost believed her. I would have believed her if she said it while looking me in the eyes, but her gaze was fixed on the patterns she was tracing on the blanket lining the floor of the tent. “I don’t like him so he’ll like me back. I’m not holding my breath or anything, so—”

She would have told me then and there that she didn’t just like Sehun like any sixteen-year-old might like an older guy. She loved him. We would have stayed up all night recounting all of their memories— the good and the bad ones— had Donghae not poked his head into the tent.

“So you are having a sleepover!” He frowned at us, and I almost felt like I did something wrong.

Mom was nowhere to be seen, but I heard her scold, “Leave my kids alone, Donghae! They’re innocent, and—”

Donghae tore his eyes away from us to stare at Mom as he argued, “A boy is a boy, Manager! We don’t know what his intentions are! He shouldn’t stay here!”

Donghae’s sudden appearance was no longer a mystery to me. Sehun sent him to lecture me because I mentioned the sleepover earlier. He distrusted me so much— or he was so jealous of my friendship with Lei— that he tattled to a member of Super Junior who was practically Lei’s dad. I wasn’t that shocked. I just figured, considering the Closet Confrontation, that Sehun would’ve wanted to confront us himself.

Anyway, the lectures about ‘my intentions’ wouldn’t have been so bad if I had actually been up to no good. They wouldn’t have been so bad if I was really interested in becoming Lei’s boyfriend or something.

After seeing the humiliated look on Lei’s face, I decided to just go back to my dorm. I was standing in the tent when Mom barked, “Lucas is staying, Donghae!” I sat back down. I only needed Mom’s permission to stay. “If you want to chaperone, feel free to set up the other tent.”

Nobody was surprised that Donghae actually went to the trouble to set up the other tent, but I was kind of shocked when he asked Mom if she would chaperone with him. It was an obvious attempt at flirting, but Mom shook her head. She was either uninterested or oblivious enough to respond, “My drama is getting good.”

And I realized that while Donghae might have been genuinely concerned about Lei, he had mostly come to see Mom when he followed her back into the house to watch the drama with her. I didn’t really blame him. Mom was hot.

Anyway, Donghae was in and out of the house, so Lei eagerly dropped the conversation about Sehun. I didn’t try to pick it back up. I didn’t need to. I learned what I wanted to know: whatever feeling Sehun had for her that escaped from his eyes as a glare pointed at me— Lei spilled it on every word she said about him every day until the first Christmas Incident.

Over time, Lei told me how they met by the vending machine, how he made her tenth birthday golden, how he helped her walk through the dark to find Mom after Heechul lost her at the drive-in and how he even stayed to watch Beauty and the Beast with her, how he helped her through trainee days with words of encouragement, how he bought her cotton candy on a trip to Puroland and promised to look out for her always, how he (and Donghae) bought the charm bracelet that I saw on her wrist every day of our friendship to celebrate her debut, how she forced herself out of the habit of following him “like a moth drawn to a flame” after he scolded her at a concert.

And then I understood why he was so protective— possessive, even. I understood that I was wrong to say that Sehun liked her once it was obvious— it was unmistakable— that he loved her. Maybe after knowing somebody that long, you can’t help but love them.

I can’t really tell the difference between, like, ‘brotherly love,’ or ‘friendly love,’ or ‘romantic love,’ and all that. I’ve always thought that love is just love. Wanting what’s best for someone. Some people just express it differently— by holding hands, or kissing, or staying up all night counting the stars, or sharing bouquets of flowers, or watching cartoons first thing in the morning, or laughing until sides split, or hoping for happiness from afar, or wishing to turn back time. Some people try so hard to fit their feelings into boxes, and I wish they wouldn’t. I wish they would understand that it’s impossible. It will only hurt them.

I guess it was easy for me to see that Sehun loved Lei too— probably just as much as she loved him if feelings can be measured like that— because I was an outsider. It always made me sad that Lei couldn’t understand his feelings because, as much as she denied it, she wanted him to love her too. And he did. He just didn’t express it in a way she understood.

I probably couldn’t have helped her to understand even if I tried, but I guess I’ll never know. I never tried to explain Sehun’s feelings because— well— they were his feelings. I didn’t have the words. And it wasn’t my place to speak for him. It was my place to tell Lei, “I think that you should follow him if that would make you happy.”

“That wouldn’t make me happy anymore,” she said, and I thought she was going to cry. “I’m afraid that won’t make me happy ever again.”

So I slung an arm around her shoulders and hugged her because I really, really didn’t want her to cry. “Then wait for him to follow you, Lei.”

She laughed an unamused, airy sort of laugh because she didn’t believe that would ever happen. She didn’t know that the days when Sehun would chase her were just around the corner.

But I did. And it didn’t matter that I wanted somebody less afraid of love for Lei. I wanted those days to start as soon as possible.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. The Girl Who Grew Up (While He Was Blinking)

**Sehun POV**  
Had I known when he asked me to hang out that Donghae would take me out on his boat to fish, I would have dressed more appropriately for the mid-summer heat. Or maybe I would have made up some excuse to stay home. 

I didn’t have any particular issue with nature or anything; I just knew that I was the kind of person who thrived in air-conditioned environments. Plus, I thought that fishing was kind of boring. Out of respect for Donghae, though, I kept my complaints to myself long after I set my fishing rod down on the floor of the boat, where it soaked my new leather sneakers with water from the river. 

We had been on the water since the sun rose, and by sunset, Donghae had said a total of about five words. Because I didn’t really know how to break silences, I focused my gaze on that distant line where the crystal blue water met the sky, painted shades of pink, orange, and red. I had never really been in the habit of watching the sky, so I couldn’t remember a time that it had ever looked that way before. Golden. The moon, which I had to squint to make out through the thinning cotton candy clouds, was a crescent shape. 

It’s a shame that I didn’t think to take a picture, but I think I can still see that sky when I close my eyes. It’s too bad that I can’t paint it for you. Just take my word for it— the sky was never prettier. 

It’s a shame that nobody else saw that sky with me. Donghae was too focused on his line in the water. His jaw was tense, and unfamiliar creases were forming between his eyebrows. He seemed so deep in thought that I was reluctant to ask, “What’s wrong?” In the end, I decided to disturb the silence because I could probably count on one hand how many times I hadn’t seen Donghae wearing a smile. 

He flinched at the sound of my voice, met my eyes, but didn’t offer his characteristic smile. “It’s nothing, really,” he said before pulling his fishing rod out of the water to set it beside mine. 

Before I could narrow my eyes at his dishonesty and counter that it didn’t seem like nothing was bothering him, he said, “I’ve just spent these past few days, weeks, or months trying to figure out when Lei grew up.” I don’t think he heard my breath catch in my throat over the sound of his own voice. “It seems like she was a little girl just yesterday. Just yesterday, she was sitting at that table by the vending machine at the S.M. building with those dolls I got her for Christmas. And I’m trying to figure out when she found the time to trade the doll for that boy, and— it happened too fast. I think it happened while I was blinking.” 

Lei growing up was the last thing that I wanted to talk about, but I tried to have a little compassion for Donghae. He knew Lei longer. He knew her when she was younger. He was attached to her little gap-toothed smile and childish honesty before I was. It was probably hard for him to let go of the past, too. Maybe— maybe it was harder for him than it was for me. 

“Time flies,” I agreed with a defeated sort of sigh. “There’s no point in clinging to it. It’ll slip away no matter how hard you try to hold on.” 

Donghae asked, “When did you get so wise?” 

I couldn’t blame it on Junmyeon— I had learned that lesson on my own— so I joked, “Maybe it happened while you were blinking.”

Donghae’s laugh lifted some of the weight from my shoulders.

Although Lucas was the second to last thing I wanted to talk about, I felt light enough to tell Donghae, “It’s only natural for Lei to make friends. It’s only natural for Lei to meet boys.” 

“I know that,” Donghae admitted, sighing. “I’m not disappointed in her or anything. I’m just worried. I was never this worried when you were the only boy she noticed.” 

When I glanced at Donghae— my eyes had drifted back to the sky— he was studying me. His eyebrows were still gathered together and drawing worried lines on his face, but this annoying little grin tugged on the corner of his lips. “Oh,” I said dumbly. “So you know about that?” For some reason, I was too embarrassed to keep looking at him. 

“Yeah. Lei never considered her crush on you a secret, you know.”

I cringed, first, at imagining how many people knew about feelings that were none of their business. Then, I realized that Donghae was speaking in the past tense, and something about that made me squirm and drop my voice to an almost whisper. “She ** _still_** doesn’t.” I picked at my nail beds. They were bleeding, but they didn’t hurt. “And she and Lucas are just friends, by the way.” 

I felt Donghae’s eyes on me, but I wouldn’t meet them. I told myself that was the best way to express disinterest, but I think I knew that I was afraid of what he might find if I returned his stare. 

He asked, “Do you like Lei?” so casually— so kindly— that every muscle in my body shouldn’t have tensed. My stomach shouldn’t have lurched. My pulse shouldn’t have quickened. 

My answer was an instant, flat, unwavering, “No,” but I heard in the following silence that Donghae didn’t believe me. 

Eventually, he asked, “You’re, what, five years older than her?” I stiffly nodded my head and hummed in response. “Five years won’t matter forever.” 

I suppose he was giving me permission to like her someday, but I didn’t want to.

And I suppose that he was probably right, but I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want to count down the days until five years didn’t matter. I didn’t want to wish time away like that. All at once, I was so uncomfortable in my skin, even when Donghae finally looked away from me, that I would have walked away from the conversation if we weren’t in the middle of the lake. 

“Can we talk about something else?” I balled my hands into fists. I guess I was begging. “Anything else?”

Donghae said, “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.” 

And I lied, “I’m okay.” And I didn’t blame Donghae for doubting me. 

Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he huffed, “This time when she’s between childhood and adulthood is uncomfortable for all of us, you know.” He must have been talking about Lei’s mom, himself, and the other members of Super Junior who made up their family unit. “Even though we’re all older than Lei, we’ve kind of grown up together. It’s— it’s kind of sad— the day that you realize you’ve outgrown certain memories— the day that you realize you’ll outgrow something new every day for the rest of time.” 

I didn’t know what to say. I had never heard Donghae talk like that. Figuring that I could only listen while he trusted me with his feelings— as uncomfortable as they made me— imagining that he was speaking for both of us— I turned back to the sunset. 

“I wouldn’t be thinking like this if that boy— Lucas— didn’t follow her everywhere. The first time I saw him, I dreaded the day when Lei might outgrow him or— worse— the day when he might outgrow her. I’ve tried to imagine what I’ll say if that happens. I’ve tried to figure out how to pick up the pieces and keep her whole if he breaks her.”

Donghae was never the kind of person to express fears about the future. I had only ever known his optimistic side, but maybe love— wanting what’s best for Lei— made him feel afraid too. 

Although I didn’t want to believe that Lei was as fragile as we feared, I swore, “If anything ever breaks Lei, you won’t be the only one picking up the pieces.” 

Of course, I was thinking about Yesung and Heechul, who would seek revenge on her behalf. I was thinking about Siwon, who would let her cry on his shoulder. I was thinking about Ryeowook, who would know all the right things to say to comfort her. I was thinking about her Mom, who would inspire her just by existing nearby. And I was thinking about myself, who wouldn’t know what to say or do— who would still try to help. 

As if it would comfort us, I said, “Besides, Lucas plans to stand by Lei forever, or at least that’s what he told me. I’m pretty sure he meant it. He had this stupid little grin on his face the moment I said Lei’s name. He loves her, or whatever.” 

I rolled my eyes at the memory of our conversation at the S.M. building. Since I admitted it to Lei, I’ll admit it to you: I was grossly jealous of Lucas’s effortless ability to make her smile that broad, bright, unrestrained, smile— and snort when she laughed— and forget that somebody was always watching. It was always clear that **_if_** Lucas ever hurt Lei, it would be an accident. It was always clear that he was the kind of person who would apologize before her eyes were wide and shiny with tears. 

All in all, Lucas was a good person— a good friend— and I should have been grateful that he was everything I didn’t know how to be. I tried to be grateful. Gratitude was just hard to muter when I hated him for reminding me of my shortcomings. 

“I can’t tell if that makes me feel better.” Donghae scratched at the back of his neck. “I want Lei to have friends. I don’t want her to be lonely, but I keep thinking that the longer he sticks around, the likelier he is to learn things that he shouldn’t know. I never want Lei to suffer for things that aren’t her fault.”

Suddenly, I couldn’t understand what Donghae meant. “What do you mean? What could be bad enough to scare Lucas away?” Mind you, they were inseparable at that point. I never saw one without the other. 

In Donghae’s defense, he preceded the heavy secret with many disclaimers.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he said first. 

I dismissed that one by promising, “I won’t tell anyone.” 

Then, he said, “Once I tell you, you’ll always know.” 

All that did was fuel my curiosity. The secret was one of those that, once it was on the tip of the tongue, had to be spoken. There was no way to hold it back, but Donghae tried to bite his tongue even after I said, “Okay. Tell me anyway.” I shouldn’t have pried it out of him when he was so inclined to guard it, but I told myself that I needed to know to protect Lei. 

He chewed on his lip. “You have to promise that you won’t treat Lei any differently, okay?”

Wiping my clammy palms on my jeans, I assured him that nothing could ever change my friendship with Lei— not even the frown that contorted Donghae’s face as he blurted, “Lei’s mom is the idol who never debuted.”

I guess the effort to hold the words in his mouth blurred them all together once they were out in the open. Unable to make sense of whatever he said, I blinked at him. “What?”

Donghae whined and cradled his face in his hands, and I almost felt bad for making him repeat it. The second time, he spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “Lei’s Mom— Manager Kim— is the idol who never debuted.” 

Even when he spoke clearly enough for me to catch every word, the weight of the secret didn’t hit me. I couldn’t attach any meaning to the words. I felt stupid asking, “Who’s that?” before Donghae dropped his jaw and looked at me like I was an idiot. 

“You never heard of the idol who never debuted?”

“Obviously not,” I mumbled. Nobody likes feeling dumb. My ears burned. I either developed a sunburn or I was embarrassed **_again_**. “Is that some kind of TV reference or something? I don’t keep up with dramas, so—”

“No!” Donghae almost laughed at my cluelessness, and I was almost relieved after watching him mope all day. “I thought instructors warned trainees about becoming like the idol who never debuted!”

“Well, I’ve never heard about that before!” 

The whole phrase sounded suspect to me. How could anyone be an idol when they hadn’t debuted? If they didn’t debut, they were just a trainee— a failed one at that. I couldn’t begin to imagine Lei’s Mom as a figure in an S.M. cautionary tale when the story didn’t even make sense to me. 

When I strained my memory a bit to remember trainee days— when I strained to decipher the millions of whispers I heard throughout the day (that I threw away because they didn’t pertain to me)— I remembered the brief lectures barked at Chanyeol if he stood too close to girls during co-ed training. _ **“Don’t stand too close. Don’t look too long. Don’t laugh too loud. You don’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted.”**_ I never thought twice about it because it had never been said to me. 

Donghae explained, “Manager Kim trained to be an idol at S.M. years ago. She was very popular at the agency. She was even scheduled to debut, but she dropped out when she got pregnant with Lei.”

“What?” I gasped. The idea of Lei’s Mom as an idol— no, as a failed trainee— contradicted every idea I ever had of her as a responsible career-driven woman. She was such an efficient, passionate manager that I never would have imagined she had any ambition other than to manage artists. “How?”

A furious blush stained Donghae’s face when he cut his eyes at me. “How did she get pregnant?” I was embarrassed by the question the moment it fell out of my mouth, but it sounded worse in Donghae’s voice. Still, he answered, “Apparently, she was dating some bastard—” I choked on Donghae’s unexpected language— “who left her as soon as he got what he wanted.”

My face burned as it turned a shade that rivaled Donghae’s blush. While I knew that Lei’s father wasn’t involved in her life, I tried not to think about the circumstances. I tried not to think about things that could only hurt her— that could only hurt me. “Does Lei know?”

“She knows that her father left before she was even born,” Donghae growled, and I chewed through my cheek. It hurt enough to make my eyes water. Donghae took a deep breath. “But she doesn’t know that Manager Kim trained as an idol. She doesn’t know anything about the scandal.”

Instantly, relief washed over me. I had known Lei long enough to predict that she would blame herself for ruining her mother’s dreams. It didn’t matter that I didn’t think those feelings would be rational; I didn’t want Lei to experience them. I didn’t want her to suffer for something that wasn’t her fault. I wouldn’t have known how to comfort her through the burden of that knowledge. I couldn’t imagine that anyone would have been able to comfort her through something like that. 

And yet, I rambled to Donghae, “Somebody has to tell Lei. What if the media gets a hold of that information? You know how some people look for every way to tear us down. Not only would a story like that ruin Manager Kim’s reputation and Lei’s— Lei would be so caught off guard and vulnerable, and I—” 

I bit my tongue, closed my eyes, and told myself to stop imagining the worst-case scenario, but I couldn’t. It was my job to protect her, but how could I protect her from something that happened in the past? 

Out loud, I said, “I don’t want to see her hurt like that,” and I wouldn’t have cared who heard me. 

“It’s a well-guarded secret,” Donghae said as if he hadn’t just spilled it to me. “I understand where you’re coming from. It would be terrible if somebody tried to hurt Lei with the past she doesn’t even know about, but it’s not our place to tell her, Sehun.” I opened my mouth to disagree, but Donghae continued, “It’s not our secret. It’s Kim’s. If you tell Lei, you could seriously damage the relationship between a mother and a daughter.” 

That convinced me to bite my tongue. Lei told me on the bus once that her mother was everything to her. If her world was just one person, it would be her mother. Remembering how she leaned into my side and cried because those girls insulted her mother, I resolved to hold the secret. I didn’t know if anything could ruin Lei’s perception of her mother, but I never wanted to be the person to inflict such a deep wound. 

Carding a hand through my hair, I wheezed, all at once nauseated. “Don’t you think that Manager Kim is being irresponsible by keeping this secret? If it’s about her reputation—”

I cut myself off once I noticed Donghae’s glare. “I think you should be careful about how you speak about her—” he was clearly referring to Manager Kim— “to me.” He held his hands in fists too, and nothing had ever been more glaringly obvious than the fact that Donghae was in love with her. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. 

While I sat there, slackjawed, I wondered if Heechul, Donghae, and every other member of Super Junior all had a thing for Lei’s mother. I hoped they didn’t. I was already disgusted with Heechul for losing Lei while he was on that date at the drive-in. I didn’t want to believe that everybody could be so irresponsible with Lei while trying to impress her mother. 

As I tried to count the years separating Donghae from the object of his affection— as I concluded that it had to be somewhere around ten years— twice the amount of time between me and Lei— Donghae scolded, “I told you so you could protect Lei, not so you could judge Kim.”

Considering the hearts in Donghae’s eyes, I realized quickly that it would do no good to explain that I hadn’t meant to judge anyone. My apology didn’t wipe away the scowl that settled on Donghae’s face, but I wasn’t going to beg for forgiveness just because he was hypersensitive. 

Minutes passed in tense silence before Donghae decided to set the boat toward land. 

Feeling that I knew too much— more than Donghae even meant to tell me— I rubbed at my temples and griped, “I wish I didn’t know this.” 

I think he might have noticed the last few seconds of the sunset before the stars came out as he sighed, “Me too.“


	10. The Flower Who Bloomed in April

**Sehun’s POV**

Once upon a time, in a year I can’t remember, Lei wrote a note for my birthday that claimed, “All flowers bloom in April.” I guess I’m somewhat inclined to agree. That idea breaks through all of my thoughts and colors them a faint pink whenever winter melts into spring and all of nature seems to celebrate us. 

I was considering that old note while pulling my car into the driveway of Lei’s house, which was too big for just her and her mother. 

“What is this place?” Chanyeol asked, eyes bulging out of their sockets. 

Aware that he wouldn’t rest until he received an answer, I said, “It’s Lei’s house,” and braced myself for his predictable (but still annoying) jokes. 

Chanyeol almost laughed, and he reached over to ruffle my hair like I was a child. “I should have known that you’d have to visit your little girlfriend!”

The tips of my ears burned as I gnawed on my cheek. I didn’t say anything at first. After the incident at the SM Town concert when I made Lei cry, I decided to just let Chanyeol say whatever he wanted as long as she couldn’t hear. I decided not to waste my energy arguing with him. 

I swallowed the uncomfortable lump in my throat. “I told you to drive yourself to your little fling’s house if you didn’t want to make stops.” 

Chanyeol watched me grab the small gift box— which I asked Junmyeon to wrap— from the center console. I watched the smirk curl his lips with the realization, “Oh! It’s the princess’s birthday!” He cheered like he cared. “How old is she now?” 

When I didn’t dignify him with a response as I forced the box into the pocket of my loose jeans, Chanyeol started to count the years aloud. “Okay, so if you’re turning 23 in two days, that must mean—” 

“Eighteen,” I spoke flatly. “Lei is eighteen.”

“Eighteen,” Chanyeol repeated in a low whistle. “That’s crazy! You know, if we were in America, she would officially be an adult now.” 

I squirmed in my seat. “Well, we’re not in America,” I reminded him. I told his obnoxious skeptical expression, “And it doesn’t matter how old she is. I’m not holding my breath until she’s an adult because, like I’ve told you a thousand times, we’re just friends.” 

I almost said, **_“We’ll always be just friends,”_** but it didn’t seem like the right thing to say. Always— never— those words didn’t sound right about Lei except to say that I would always want to be good to her. 

“I really don’t understand you.” Chanyeol drummed his fingers on the center console. “Doesn’t it kinda annoy you that there is only one girl who hasn’t been deterred by your resting bitch face—” I narrowed my eyes, and Chanyeol nodded— “yeah, that one!”

I rolled my eyes. 

“Doesn’t it bother you that the only girl you’ve never run from— the only girl you’ve ever loved— is too young to be, like, your soulmate or something?” 

“No,” I answered honestly, “because I don’t believe in soulmates.” 

Probably because I didn’t deny loving Lei, Chanyeol’s jaw dropped. Once I believed that love is just wanting what’s best for someone, it wasn’t hard to admit that I loved Lei. I decided that it would be a shame to allow Chanyeol’s jokes or misunderstandings to pervert something so wholesome. 

Although it wasn’t any of his business, I explained, “I’m not here to celebrate Lei’s passage into American adulthood or whatever the hell you’re thinking. Her Mom is still managing Super Junior’s tour abroad, so I promised Donghae that I wouldn’t let her be lonely all day.” 

“What, so you’re gonna invite her to tag along with us again?” Almost a decade had passed since I took Lei to the Sanrio store for her tenth birthday, but Chanyeol clung to his grudge against us as if we left him alone in the arcade just yesterday. 

I frowned at his childishness. “I doubt that Lei wants to waste her birthday by tagging along on our two-hour drive to your fling’s apartment. I’m just gonna give her a gift—”

“A kiss?” Chanyeol puckered his lips and made disgustingly exaggerated smacking sounds. He laughed while dodging my half-hearted attempt to swat at him. 

I didn’t tell Chanyeol that I had gotten Lei a cherry blossom charm because then I would have had to tell him about the charm bracelet I got for her debut, and then he would joke about that too. I wasn’t a sensitive sort of guy— not usually, anyway— but I liked to avoid as many Lei jokes as possible. 

I continued, “After I give her the gift, I’ll come right back out. Then I’ll drop you off at what’s-her-name’s place, and—”

“You should stick around,” Chanyeol urged for the thousandth time. “My girl has a friend, and—”

For the thousandth time, I responded, “I’m not interested.” 

Chanyeol knew that I was opposed to dating even in the most casual sense of the word, yet he kept encouraging me to meet people who I didn’t want to meet. He kept encouraging me to kiss people I didn’t want to kiss— people who I could probably never develop any real attachment to— people who could probably never develop any real attachment to me. No matter how many times I swore that I wasn’t lonely— and even if I was, shallow physical relationships would fail to fill any void— he didn’t get I didn’t want to open myself up to women who would only ever be strangers. 

Maybe I wasn’t opposed to falling in love with somebody who knew me and accepted me, but I was opposed to taking that first step into the unknown. Furthermore, I knew that I wouldn’t find my soulmate— if such a person existed despite my disbelief— through Chanyeol’s hookups. 

Don’t misunderstand. I didn’t care that Chanyeol and others tried to fill their voids with people. It’s up to others to behave and experience life as they see fit. It’s not my place to determine whether their relationships are truly fulfilling. It’s just— I knew that kind of thing wasn’t for me. I had never experienced love at first sight, and I doubted very much whether it existed, and it was always clear to me that if I were ever to ‘find love’ — well, love would have to find me because I would never look first, especially not with everyone watching. 

“I’m tired,” I said, and it wasn’t technically a lie, “so as soon as I drop you off, I’m going home.” 

“Whatever.” Chanyeol shrugged. “If you ask me—”

Figuring that he, like Junmyeon, would try to impress upon me the importance of companionship, I said, “I’m not.” 

Chanyeol continued anyway. “This is all a waste of time. I doubt that kid—” he was referring to Lei— “is lonely. I bet that boy with the big head—” he was referring to Lucas— “is in that giant ass mansion with her, eating cake, watching cartoons, or making out on the couch since the Super Junior dudes aren’t around to scare them apart.”

With his words, Chanyeol painted a vivid picture that I couldn’t quite erase from my mind. My stomach turned with my failed efforts, so I reminded myself aloud, “They’re just friends.” 

“Believe what you want,” Chanyeol scoffed, “but **_something_** is going on. How else is our little princess wrapping him and you and who knows who else around her finger?” 

“Just shut up and wait here.” I jumped out of my seat and slammed the door behind me before Chanyeol could say anything else to convince me to punch his face. 

He rolled his window down to yell, “Jealousy is not becoming, Sehun!” 

For the sake of preserving our friendship, I pretended not to hear him as I climbed the stairs and rang the doorbell. After minutes passed with no response, I figured that Lei had gone out with some friends. Although she claimed Lucas as the only cure for her loneliness, she had surged in popularity among other idols, so she could have been out with anybody. Pushing through my disappointment, I reached for my phone to text her and arrange some other time to meet— probably on my birthday. 

Then, before I could press send, her voice beckoned from the other side of the door, “It’s open! Come in!” 

She didn’t even ask me to identify myself. What if I was some crazed fan? Because it was her birthday, I suppressed my worry with the reminder that I wasn’t a crazed fan. I wasn’t a stranger. There was no real harm in trusting me. 

Still, if she was going to be irresponsible while her Mom and Super Junior were away, I would have to appoint myself as her protector. I would have to drive by to check on her every day until their return; the daily check-in texts would do little to prevent her from inviting strangers into the house.

Nothing in Lei’s tone— except for the giggles, I realize in hindsight— prepared me for what I found behind the door. On the white couch, as if positioned to greet anyone who entered with a scene from nightmares, Lei was pinned under Lucas while SpongeBob played on the widescreen television. I tried to fix my gaze on the scattered cupcake wrappers on the coffee table, but I couldn’t. The scene wouldn’t have been so revolting if a.) Chanyeol hadn’t predicted it, b.) Lucas hadn’t been shirtless, and c.) Lei hadn’t been too busy giving Lucas her brightest smile to notice me, frowning in the doorway. 

Maybe it’s best that she didn’t catch me staring at them. Maybe it’s best that she didn’t notice me until I regained my outward composure. 

Once I realized that I was witnessing the last thing I ever wanted to see— what I was afraid happened behind closed doors— my heavy gaze crashed somewhere around my feet. In the reflective hardwood floor, I met my own downcast expression. Although I wanted nothing more than to forget how I looked in that moment, I couldn’t turn my head or raise my eyes without confronting the fear— the reality— of seeing Lei so close to, so engrossed with someone who—

**_Someone who wasn’t me._ **

My stomach lurched so violently with that thought that I gagged. I rushed to pack that thought, which was too jealous, selfish, embarrassing, and inappropriate to embrace, into a box in a dark corner of my mind where I could never find it again. The problem was that no matter how I tried to avoid that dark corner, I always wandered there with my eyes closed. The thought was strong enough to escape from its box, and it was smart enough to find me, and it was quick enough to chase me, and I was stupid enough to keep running long after it caught me. 

I thought that my burning face, which must have been red, could have been cooled by the spring breeze. I thought that I would stop falling— I would stop sinking if I didn’t have to stand in the same room as their laughter. I would have bolted out of the house and away from the spiraling emotions that I never, **_never_** expected to experience, but I was paralyzed by Lei’s giggles filling the static air. I was numb with the desire to hear them still, even when I wasn’t the cause. Even when I needed to, I couldn’t walk away. 

For a second, I think, my heart stopped. Once it started pounding again, I found the voice to ask, “What’s going on here?” It was lucky that anger— not whatever sadness nagged from that dark corner of my mind— was the primary emotion in my voice. At least, that’s what I told myself. 

They stared at me with identical slackjawed, wide-eyed expressions, and I had to roll my eyes because the only alternative was to cry or something. I didn’t cry. 

“Hey, Sehun!” Lei turned her smile to me, and I eagerly accepted what I couldn’t return until she hissed, “Get off, Lucas! Don’t you have any idea how bad this looks?”

Was it right to be proud of her for abandoning her laughter for the warning scowl that darkened her features? Was I proud of being the person who, by my voice or presence, forced that distance between her and others— even people like Lucas who I _**knew**_ were good? Even when I reminded myself that I was just protecting her, I was stiff with guilt. It was my first time feeling that way. I didn’t like it. 

“I don’t care how it looks!” Lucas transformed into a little kid when he pouted. He almost looked like Lei used to look. “Just lay still, and let me finish—”

“She said to get off,” I growled at Lucas, knowing that he wasn’t trying to cross inappropriate boundaries. He was completely innocent— almost to the point of stupidity— and **_I_ **was perverting the situation by assuming the worst. 

Lucas didn’t argue with me, though. He didn’t assert himself. He raised his hands in surrender, mouth falling open, and **_that’s_** when I saw that he was holding a black marker. **_That’s_** when I realized that I hadn’t interrupted any romantic moment. It was all a misunderstanding. 

So why didn’t I feel better? Was the thought, the misunderstanding, the imagination that Lei had been close to somebody else terrible enough to ruin the day? 

Lucas climbed off of her and stood straight as if to boast the handwriting (which I recognized as Lei’s) sprawled across his chest reading: LEICAS 4 EVA. Leicas— the word fans used to refer to their friendship and alleged romantic attraction. How foolish to make light of such rumors that could damage their reputations. 

When Lei stood next to Lucas, I saw not only a tattoo identical to Lucas’s on her stomach, exposed under her white cropped shirt. Bright tattoos marked every inch of skin on her arms, legs, and even on much of her face. On one cheek was a sparkling silver heart drawn around the name Baek, penned by Baekhyun, no doubt. On the other was a larger, sloppier heart drawn around the name Ten. How childish. 

As if attracted to the chance to deepen my scowl, Chanyeol barreled through the door. “Sehun, you promised you’d be right back! You said—” He fell silent at the sight of Lei. “What the hell happened to you, Princess?”

A blush broke out across the bridge of her nose as she scratched at the back of her neck. “Minseokie bought temporary tattoo markers and handed them out to all of the party guests so they could give me tattoos for my birthday! Apparently, he saw something in a movie, and—”

I blurted, “What the hell kind of movies is Minseok watching?” 

And Chanyeol blurted, “Party guests?” 

And Lucas told him, “Everyone’s out by the pool! Lei turns eighteen today!”

Chanyeol turned to me with a sick smirk as he repeated, “Eighteen, huh?”

I would have glared at him had I been able to tear my eyes away from Lei. Even while I glared at every mark on her body, I knew that the rage fuelling my every thought was an overreaction. I knew that I shouldn’t have wanted to scold Minseok for encouraging Baekhyun, Ten, Lucas, and everyone else at the party to make their mark on Lei. 

“Come here!” Chanyeol called her toward us, holding his hand out for Lucas to give him the marker. 

Because Lei and Lucas were foolish enough to obey, I had to intervene before Chanyeol could join the trend of writing on her. He probably would have written some insult on her skin for everyone to see, so I didn’t feel bad about snatching the marker and stuffing it into my pocket. “She’s a girl, not a piece of paper.”

“Come on, Sehun!” Chanyeol whined at my reaction before another smirk twisted his lips. “You’ll get your turn to mark the birthday girl!”

Lucas’s jaw dropped, and Lei grimaced, and I would have yelled at Chanyeol myself if Lei hadn’t beat me to it. 

“Way to make it pervy, Chanyeol!” She rolled her eyes at him as she crossed her arms. When she rounded on her bare heels, deliberately whipping her ponytail, I caught the bright pink lettering on her shoulder reading, quite simply, “Yuta’s.” Something about that made my blood boil. 

“Hey!” Kyungsoo’s deep voice preceded him. He stomped into the living room carrying a tray of uncooked meat and pointed his glare at me and Chanyeol. “Who invited you two?”

While I wondered just how many boys lurked around Lei’s house, Chanyeol retorted, “Well, it wasn’t you, Minseok, or Baekhyun!”

Kyungsoo didn’t bat an eyelash at Chanyeol’s harsh tone. Grinning faintly as he met Lei’s eyes, he shrugged. “Nobody ever invites Baekhyun, but he somehow manages to crash every party.”

Although nobody was looking at him, let alone talking to him, Lucas lowered his sunglasses over his eyes and chirped, “I like Baekhyun!”

“Anyway—” Kyungsoo resumed glaring at me and Chanyeol after smiling at Lucas— “I’m not going to allow you two to ruin the perfect pool party that Minseok and I planned for months at Manager Kim’s request!”

“Yeah?” Chanyeol’s eyes narrowed at Kyungsoo. “Well, we didn’t want to come to this stupid party anyway! Come on, Sehun!” He wrapped his hand around my arm and tried to pull me out the door that he left open, but I wouldn’t budge. 

Tugging out of Chanyeol’s grip, momentarily forcing myself to pretend that others weren’t watching, I met Lei’s gaze head-on and said, “I didn’t mean to crash your party. I only wanted to tell you happy birthday. I didn’t mean—”

I didn’t mean to slip into a fight, but I didn’t say that. 

“I didn’t know—”

When I pulled into the driveway, I didn’t know that I was walking into a situation where I would have to compete with Lucas and Baekhyun and Ten and Minseok and Kyungsoo and Yuta and who knows who else for her attention. Obviously, I didn’t say that either. 

Chewing on my tongue, burning under everyone’s stares, I wheezed, “I’m sorry.” That was all I said those days. It never got easier. 

Tugging at the ribbon in her hair, Lei said, “It’s okay, Sehun,” even though it wasn’t— even though my apology was incoherent. She tried to bite her smile as she said, “You can stay if you’re not busy.” I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t smile at me if she wanted to. 

I would have dropped everything, said anything, done anything to inspire her to give me the smile that always used to be mine, but Chanyeol tried to speak on my behalf again. 

Hands on his hips and thoroughly unapologetic, Chanyeol said, “Sorry to break it to ya, Princess, but your Prince Charming promised to drive me across town to meet up with my girl.” 

“Your girl?” Kyungsoo and Lucas parroted. Lucas spoke with an open-mouthed grin, and (beneath his sunglasses) hearts probably gathered in his eyes. Meanwhile, Kyungsoo spoke through a tense frown, eyes devoid of everything but sheer annoyance. 

For the first time I could remember, Lei was the first to look away. “Hey,” I said so quietly that nobody else in the room noticed. Lei heard, though, and she looked up instantly despite the distance between us. I said, “Don’t worry. I only make cross-town trips for true love.” 

Her smile inspired my own even after Chanyeol focused his glare on me. I tossed my keys to him. “Feel free to take my car or call an Uber or something.” 

“Are you serious?” He gawked at me when I nodded my head. “You’re staying? Just because she asked you to?”

Meeting Lei’s smile, I reasoned, “It’s her birthday,” but I knew that I would have done anything she asked any day of the year. Maybe that wasn’t how things had always been— or maybe it was— but I decided once and for all that I would be responsible for as many smiles as possible from then on.

As if he heard my silent vow, Chanyeol shook his head before shouting, “Well, I’m not staying!” He slammed the door on his way out. 

When Lei winced at the sound, Lucas threw a protective arm around her shoulders. Watching her lean into his embrace, I wondered if she would have been comfortable enough to lean on me if I were the one standing by her side. Knowing that I would never reach out to her first, I tried to comfort her from afar by reminding her that she didn’t have to care about Chanyeol’s outburst. 

I didn’t get the chance to say anything. Kyungsoo filled the silence. “If you’re going to stay, Sehun, do me a favor. Grab the other tray off the kitchen counter. And Lei—” his entire face changed— brightened— when he said her name. I wondered if I ever looked that happy when I said it. “Can you grab the cup of sliced watermelon and give it to Mark?”

Stepping out of Lucas’s embrace, Lei winked at Kyungsoo and saluted him. “You got it, Soo!”

Because he was usually opposed to being called anything other than Kyungsoo or D.O., I almost expected him to correct her or at least tell her not to wink at him. He didn’t. Kyungsoo winked back at her. “Lucas, can you come open the back door for me?”

Lucas ran to help Kyungsoo, and I followed Lei as she skipped into the kitchen. She spun behind the counter, grabbed the clear plastic cup containing sliced watermelon, and— after popping a piece into her mouth— caught me staring at her. Eyes widening, she held the cup out to me and offered through her mouthful, “Want one?”

I shook my head, and she shrugged, giggling, “Your loss, Sehun!”

She was set to dash out the back door, but she stopped when I asked, “Why don’t I have a nickname?”

“What?” She blinked at me, smile fading until I grinned at her. With my encouragement, she smiled that genuine smile that deepened her laugh lines and wrinkled her eyes. 

“You call Minseok ‘Minseokie,’ Kyungsoo ‘Soo,’ and Baekhyun—” I pointed to the silver heart on her cheek— “‘Baek.’ So why am I just plain old Sehun?”

“I dunno.” She furrowed her brow and looked up at me. “What do you want me to call you?”

I mimicked her tone. “I dunno. I can’t come up with my own nickname, Lei.”

She pointed out, “You don’t call me by any nickname either. Chanyeol calls me ‘kid,’ and ‘princess,’ but you’ve always called me Lei.”

As if she didn’t know, I told her, “Chanyeol calls you those things just to be an asshole.” 

She playfully gasped, “Language, Sehun!” She swatted at me and laughed when I cried out in exaggerated pain. 

To get our conversation back on track, I said, “Everyone else calls you Lei.”

She said, “Well, you’re not everyone else to me, **_Sehun_** ,” with such an emphasis on my name that I swear I felt it all at once— every emotion she ever spent on me. To this day, I haven’t stopped feeling it. 

Trying to distract myself, I reached for the other tray that Kyungsoo piled high with meat. I tried not to cringe when I confessed, “I’ll always call you Lei because it’s the prettiest name I’ve ever heard.” And while she was busy gawking at me, I took the chance to run away in the futile hope of escaping further embarrassment. 

I have always regretted leaving Lei alone in the kitchen because of how nearly impossible it was to get her attention outside where NCT boys seemed to multiply by the second. After dropping the tray off with Kyungsoo, who manned the grill while wearing a novelty apron whose punchline made no sense, I sat back in a lounge chair under an orange umbrella and tried to calm the weird palpitations in my chest. 

From that chair, I watched Minseok make his rounds around the pool with a handheld camcorder. A smile grew on his face when we locked eyes, and he almost tackled one of the NCT kids— Taeyong, I think— on his way over to me. 

Holding the camera just inches from my face, he asked, “Is there anything you wanna say to the birthday girl?”

I stuttered, “Um— happy birthday— Minseok, what are you doing?”

“I’m immortalizing the best pool party ever!” He whirled around to capture footage of Johnny leaping off of the diving board. “Oh, look!” He whirled around again to record Lei walking out of the house, cup of watermelon in hand. “Here comes the birthday girl!”

Her surprised expression was short-lived. Her free hand waved to the camera as she asked, “Aren’t you hot, Sehun?”

As a matter of fact, even when shielded by the umbrella, I was in danger of sweating to death. Still, I politely shook my head. “I’m fine, birthday girl.” 

“You’re supposed to always call me Lei, remember?” Lei teased, and — of course— Minseok cackled as he filmed my resulting blush. “Seriously, Sehun, if you’re hot, you can borrow some swim trunks from Lucas’s room and jump in the pool.”

I repeated, “Lucas’s room?” but Lei didn’t respond, and Minseok didn’t film my stunned reaction because he was too focused on the boy who approached Lei. 

“Whatcha doing there, Ten?” She took a cautious step away from him, and he batted his eyelashes as he smiled at her. 

“Turn around, Lei,” he bossed. “I wanna give you another tattoo.” 

Her bangs fell into her eyes when she shook her head. Cupping her cheek, she replied, “I think you gave me enough of a token to remember this day by, thanks.” 

Minseok, Ten, and I snorted. 

“I’m being serious this time,” Ten swore, smile melting into an earnest expression that almost anyone would fall for. “Turn around, and I’ll give you a serious tattoo.”

Lei rubbed the base of ner neck and averted her gaze from him. She said nothing until I urged, seeing that curious spark in her eyes, “Go for it.” She and Ten turned to face me, and I promised, “If he draws something stupid, I’ll mark it out.”

Ten brandished a glittering sky blue marker, and Lei turned her back to him with a weary sigh. “If you draw something stupid, Ten, I’ll kick your ass.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Ten grabbed Lei by the waist to pull her closer. When he glanced over at me and caught my cautionary scowl, he smirked. “You and your boyfriend have me absolutely terrified, Lei. I’ll be a good boy.”

“Boyfriend?” Lei repeated in a gasp. She looked back at Ten, followed his gaze to me, and went pink in the face. “Oh.” A tiny smile played on her lips after she looked away from me. She never reacted that way when people mistook Lucas for her boyfriend. “Get your facts straight, Ten. Sehun is my Guardian Angel. Don’t taint our pure loving friendship with your filthy mind.”

Minseok repeated, “Guardian Angel,” looking to me for a reaction. I shrugged and looked away from him, but my smile spoke for itself. 

“Oh, I see.” Ten nodded, still smirking. “How sweet. Anyway, what do you want me to draw?”

Lei shrugged. “You’re the artist, aren’t ya?”

“Well, you didn’t like my last masterpiece.” Ten traced his thumb over his heart on her cheek and laughed when she swatted him away. “So help me out a bit here. What’s your favorite thing in the world?”

Again, Lei shrugged, and Ten turned to me. “Well, what do you think, Guardian Angel? What’s Lei’s favorite thing?”

I didn’t have to glance up to see its faint shape in the sky to know the answer. “The moon.” 

“How ‘bout it, Lei?” Ten barely glanced at her smile before penning a small crescent moon on the nape of her neck. After dropping the marker into the pocket of his black swim trunks, he puckered his lips to blow air on the tattoo. 

Before I could scold him (and Minseok for filming such promiscuity) Lei rounded on Ten. “That wasn’t a part of the deal, you pervert!” 

The flames in her eyes should have scalded him, but Ten didn’t flinch as he hummed, “I dunno what you’re talking about, silly.” He was bold enough to smile at her, and something about that gesture slightly quelled the fire in her eyes. “I was just helping the ink dry!”

Unconvinced, Lei blinked at him, and Ten winked at her before strutting away. Peering into Minseok’s camera, she griped, “The nerve of some boys!” and giggled before walking off, I assumed, to find Mark and give him the cup of sliced watermelon. 

I swear, Minseok winked at me before he left in pursuit of the next exciting exchange to immortalize on tape. As I sat back in my chair, trying to come to terms with the fact that I had just watched somebody flirt with Lei out in the open, Lucas crash-landed into the chair nearest to me. 

The chair was far away enough that he had to raise his voice to talk to me. “If you’re hot, you can get some swim trunks out of my room.”

“Your room?” I raised an eyebrow at him, but he wasn’t looking at me.

“Yep.” He rested his hands behind his head. “My room has an Avengers poster on the door, so—”

I interrupted to ask, “You have a bedroom in Lei’s house?”

Lucas nodded like it wasn’t a big deal. When I rolled my eyes and started slipping into annoyance, Lucas swore, “My intentions— they’re still friendly.”

Flatly, I told him, “Friends usually don’t move in together as teenagers.” I don’t know how true that is, but I believed it when I said it. 

“Then maybe my intentions are — what’s the word? — familial.” 

When I didn’t respond except to cross my arms over my chest, Lucas leaned over his seat to whisper— if you can really call it a whisper when he talked so loudly, “There is nobody here that you should be jealous of. We’re all friends, and everyone knows that Lei is totally hot—” I grimaced— “and sure, some of us are dumb enough to try to take a shot with her, but we all know about her dating ban. We all know that she would only make an exception for one person. None of us have been dumb enough to believe even for a second that the exception would be us.”

I started to tell him that I wasn’t jealous of anybody, but the words died in my mouth when I caught him looking at me over his glasses as if to imply that _ **I**_ was the one for whom she would cast aside logic and principles. 

Although Lucas hadn’t said so explicitly, I hissed, “You should do a better job of guarding her secrets.” 

Leaning back into his seat, he replied, “She doesn’t consider her feelings for you a secret.”

I couldn’t argue because he was right. As if it were all too easy— as if she couldn’t keep the words to herself— as if she didn’t want to leave the words unsaid— she told me, “You’re the handsomest person I’ve ever seen,” and “I haven’t outgrown my crush on you,” and, “I love you,” and she said my name in that way that made my heart swell, and—

I almost think that if somebody loves you the way Lei loved me, you have to surrender to love too. Maybe not at first, maybe not all at once, but eventually all of those years of being loved so completely, so unconditionally— they surrounded me, and maybe I didn’t want them to end. 

In that moment when I couldn’t quite admit that I would also make an exception for one person, I could admit that if Lei wanted to love me where the whole world could watch— if she wanted to follow me again— if she wanted to hold my hand in the dark again— if she wanted to lean on my shoulder and trust me with all of her troubles again— if she wanted to take the first step toward me, I would never again try to stop her. 

I was distracted from my romantic thoughts by an ear-splitting scream, a loud splash, and Lucas scrambling to sit upright in his chair and yell, “Dude, Johnny, Lei can’t swim!”

I could only shake my head. How stupid to live in a house with a huge pool without learning to swim. Obviously, I set aside my frustration and fascination that Lei had lived through childhood to jump out of my chair. I would have dove into the pool— wearing my jeans with my phone and her gift tucked into the pockets— but I stood still once Lei resurfaced, clinging to Johnny. They laughed so hard that water shot out of their noses. 

Once I sat back in my seat and started to catch my breath, I mentally cursed Lei for being so irresponsible. Maybe she could stand to be careless enough to laugh in the face of near-death, but I couldn’t stand to watch it. If I was going to love her— out loud or in that dark corner of my mind— she needed to be more careful for my sake. 

As soon as she found her footing in the shallow waters, she struck Johnny’s arm once, twice, three times until— still laughing— he finally released her from his embrace and allowed her to climb out of the water. 

Staring down at him from higher ground, she yelled, “You ruined my shirt, Johnny!” And she wasn’t wrong. The white cropped top— now translucent— clung to her body like a second skin. 

“Sorry!” Johnny grinned at her, and— again— the rage in her eyes was extinguished. “I didn’t really think about that when I pulled you into the water.” Johnny was polite enough to train his eyes on her face, but I noticed that many of the other boys allowed their eyes to drift lower. 

Lei must have noticed too. After sticking her tongue out at Johnny, earning more of his boisterous laughter, she retreated to an abandoned corner by the pool. After ensuring that nobody was watching, she peeled off the white shirt to reveal the top half of her black bathing suit. Somehow, to my disappointment, all of her tattoos remained intact after being submerged in water. 

From his place in the center of the pool, where he laid in a pink donut-shaped inner tube, Baekhyun whistled, “Take it off, Lei!”

When all heads turned to her at Baekhyun’s urging, she pressed the soaked shirt flat against her chest and dashed toward me and Lucas. It was kind of funny, charming in a way, that she could be so modest at a pool party where everyone— excluding me, Kyungsoo, and Minseok— was proudly shirtless. 

Lucas said, “She’s really something, isn’t she?” 

My face burned scarlet with the realization that anybody could have caught me staring at her. Anybody could have misinterpreted my motivations. Before I could say anything to Lucas, Lei was in earshot. I had to swallow my embarrassment. 

“Move over, Lucas,” she wheezed, standing over him. When he only grunted in response, she frowned and climbed over one of his legs— which were placed on either side of the chair— to sit between them. She crossed her legs and turned her back to the pool. 

“Are you asleep or something?” Lei leaned forward to lift his sunglasses, but Lucas swatted her hand away. 

“No,” he answered, “I’m just trying to relax, and—” Lei lifted his sunglasses anyway, and Lucas whined, “back up, dude! You’re dripping pool water all over me!”

“Boohoo,” Lei mocked, poking her bottom lip into a pout. “I just got yanked into the pool by goofball Johnny, and then Baekhyun saw my bathing suit, and—”

“Dude.” Lucas’s calm voice thawed the anxiety etched into Lei’s features. More than ever, it was clear why they were close. “You look great! Calm down a bit.”

Lei raised her eyebrows uncertainly, tracing one of the tattoos on her thigh. “Really? You think I look great?”

Something about that bothered me. Did Lei have no idea that she was beautiful? Did the voices of those bullies from her trainee days still follow her? Had she fallen into the trap of reading online hate comments? 

I didn’t know, and I never would have known how to approach the topic. I never would have known how to convince her that she was radiant inside and out. I get that beauty is usually one of those subjective concepts, but, objectively, Lei was beautiful. Anyone could have seen it from her ability to draw everyone’s attention without saying a word. 

“Yeah!” Lucas assured her with a smile. “Who knows how many people were checking you out!”

I knew that he was eyeing me behind his reflective lenses, so my eyes darted away from their scene to look up at the sky. 

Lei clicked her tongue. “I don’t _**want**_ people to check me out—”

Before she could finish her complaint and I could feel culpable for my part in making her so neurotic, Kyungsoo tripped toward us, flip-flops slapping against the wet pavement. “I heard a scream and a splash and Baekhyun’s whistle! I would have come to check on you earlier, but the pork— I—” His eyebrows twitched as he took in Lei’s disheveled appearance. “What happened to you?”

Lei seemed reluctant to fuel Kyungsoo’s protective rage. She passed her shirt to Lucas and mumbled, “Wring that out, please.” 

I knew that Kyungsoo would stand there, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, until he received an answer, and then lunch would **_never_** be finished. Stomach growling, I rose to my feet, grabbed the towel that was draped over the back of my chair, and took a protective stance behind Lei to shield her from curious stares drifting her way from the pool. 

Dropping the folded towel onto Lei’s lap, I told Kyungsoo, “Johnny pulled Lei into the deep end of the pool, and—”

“WHAT?” Kyungsoo’s face went white before burning crimson. “But Lei can’t swim!”

Lei forced a smile. “I’m okay, Soo. Johnny kept a hold on me the whole time, and—” 

Kyungsoo didn’t seem to hear her. He waddled to the edge of the pool, formed a megaphone around his mouth with his hands, and announced, “Attention, party people!” 

In the process of lowering my head in embarrassment, I noticed that Lucas was wringing Lei’s shirt with unnecessary force. Lei was too busy drying her hair with the towel to notice and correct him, so I set to unbuttoning my shirt to offer it to her. 

“Do NOT pull people into the pool— especially not the birthday girl! If you do, Minseok will tell you to get out and go home!” Kyungsoo gestured to Minseok, who forced his smile into a threatening glower that probably threatened nobody before Baekhyun yelled, “You don’t scare us!”

Minseok took a step toward Baekhyun, eliciting a scream. I rolled my eyes, and Kyungsoo shook his head before walking back to the grill. 

“Lucas!” Lei shrieked and snatched her shirt from him. When she held it against her chest, what once fit perfectly was now two or three sizes too large. “What did you do?”

His only response was, “Oops.” 

Lei launched the balled-up shirt at his chest, and her visible disappointment only faded when I, stifling my laughter, dropped my unbuttoned shirt over her shoulders. The sky blue fabric suited her better than me; it made sense that she should keep it, then. 

She turned around, looked up at me with wide eyes, and said, “Thank you, Sehun.” 

The voice that she spoke to me with was softer than the one she trusted to Ten, Johnny, Minseok, Kyungsoo, and — yes— even Lucas. Something about that made my heart swell. 

I nodded to say, “You’re welcome,” because I couldn’t string two words together to make a sentence when Lei was looking at me like that. 

“Wow, man!” Lucas beamed at me too. “You’re a real hero!”

When Lei turned away from me to laugh at Lucas’s reaction, I crossed my arms over my plain white t-shirt. I guess I was disappointed yet again by her fleeting attention. I just didn’t hold it like I used to. 

She frowned at her shirt in Lucas’s hands. “Well, you might as well just throw it away now.”

“Throw it away?” Lucas hugged the shirt against his bare chest. “Just because it doesn’t fit you anymore doesn’t mean it should end up in the trash!”

Lei’s eyebrows shot up at his passionate argument. “What? Do you want it or something?” Lucas nodded his head eagerly, and Lei shrugged before giving him his way. “Whatever. Just don’t hang it up in my closet when it’s your turn to do the laundry.”

“Yay!” Lucas squealed as he flew off of the chair. “Thanks, Lei!”

Smiling, she watched him dash into the house. Then, she took his place in the chair. She pressed her back against the chair, crossed her legs, and draped the towel over them before looking up to see that I was no longer behind her. I was before her. She gasped, raised her hands to shield her eyes from the sun, and the sleeves of my shirt— which were too big for her— slid down her arms. 

“Hey, Sehun.” She couldn’t quite smile while squinting her eyes. “Having fun?”

I moved a few steps to the left to block out the sun, and she lowered her hands and laid them flat in her lap. 

“I’m having a blast.” Was I being sarcastic? Probably. But I was happy to spend time with her then with few distractions. 

“Aren’t you tired of standing?” She tilted her head aside. Patting the space on the chair before her, she suggested, “You can sit with me if you want. Or you can grab that chair over there, and—” She bit on her tongue in surprise when I sat on the edge of her chair at the earliest invitation. 

Glancing around at the thriving party, I observed, “You have a lot of friends.” Of course, I knew it, but knowing it in theory was a lot different from seeing it in real life. 

“They’re nice.” She smiled, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. It reminded me of the void in her chest that she tried to fill with Lucas. It reminded me of the secret that, at least in Donghae’s mind, threatened to clear out this gathering of flirtatious well-wishers. 

Suddenly, she sat up straight and motioned for me to move closer. “Come here, I have to tell you a secret.”

Forgetting for a moment that I didn’t want to learn another secret for the rest of my life, I obeyed her. She whispered, “I think they like me because a.) I have a pool, and b.) no matter how much they flirt, I’ll never give in. You know, some people are into that— chasing somebody they can never catch.” 

She was flirting with me, I realized, when she winked to mask the blush staining her face. 

I tried to flirt back. “Are you into that?” 

When she sighed, dropped our eye contact, and forced another smile, I realized that she did not yet know that she caught me. It was still the beginning of reimagining her. It was the beginning of the heart-fluttering moments. I didn’t know where the road into the unknown would lead, but I saw no option other than to follow it— to follow her. 

She said, “I was raised to never chase after boys. I’ve only ever followed one—” she nudged me— “and I promised not to do that anymore.”

Even without her pointed touch, I would have known that she was talking about me. Despite the deflation in my chest, I praised her. “Good. Don’t follow anybody. Continue on your path, and if somebody wants to walk with you for a while—”

When she poked my cheek, I realized that I was frowning. Her frown mirrored mine. “Don’t look like that, Sehun. It hurts my feelings.” 

For her, I forced a smile, and she laughed an airy sort of laugh. “I dunno why you’re so sentimental today, but—” her eyes widened— “oh.” 

“Oh?” My forehead wrinkled. “Oh what?” My heart raced with the fear that she was seeing me clearly. 

“We’re on the same path right now.” She smiled, and my heart raced with the hope that she was seeing me clearly. 

“We’ve always walked together,” I told her. “It’s just—”

Seeing that I had gone stiff with anxiety, she said, “It’s okay, Sehun. I understand.” 

I couldn’t quite believe that she understood, but because I didn’t know the words to explain my feelings, I didn’t say anything. 

“It’s probably not going to last.” She didn’t frown, and I couldn’t understand how she could smile while saying, “It— we— I know that we won’t be in the same place at the same time forever, but I’m so happy that you’re here now.” 

She was crushing me under the weight of an unfamiliar sadness, but I promised, “I’m happy too,” and it wasn’t a lie. 

Still smiling, she said, “You can walk with me anytime, Sehun.” 

I can’t explain why remembering that makes me want to cry. She was saying something kind— loving— but her words felt so much like a goodbye. Maybe they were a goodbye to days that were already past— the days when she followed my shadow. It felt so much like she would fade or fly away or find another path or another companion if I took the time to blink. 

Fear prompted me to grab her hand as if that touch would keep her within arms reach, within eyesight, with me. Her eyes were rounded and filled with every shining star, and I— I had to look away. I had to play off the act of pure affection by digging the tattoo marker out of my pocket. 

“I thought you were opposed to marking me like I’m a piece of paper,” she teased. 

Probably blushing, I scoffed. “It’s different when I do it.” 

She asked her favorite question: “Why?”

 _ **“Because I love you,”**_ I almost said, **_“and I have to show it somehow.”_**

Instead, I shrugged, closed my eyes, and tried to think of a drawing that would compete with— no, triumph over all of the others on her body. Ideas didn’t come easily. I didn’t watch dramas or read romance novels or even listen to romantic music that much (or at all), so I had to card through my memories until I remembered a craft I did on Valentine’s Day in the third grade. 

Then, we dipped our thumb in red paint and pressed it twice to a piece of paper to make a heart to give to our parents. The idea was profound enough, I guess, since it relied on the concept that like no two fingerprints are identical, no two loves are identical.

Bearing that in mind, I coated my thumb with the marker’s black ink and softly pressed a heart into the skin on the back of Lei’s hand. 

I watched her smile at the symbol. Just because I was curious to see whether she would react to me the way she reacted to Ten, I raised her hand to my lips and blew on the heart. She didn’t swat at me, glare at me, flinch away, or say anything. She just watched me. 

Maybe Lucas was right. Maybe she would make any exception for me. That probably wasn’t wise or safe, so why did her lapse in judgment make me so happy?

“Okay,” she hummed. She snatched the marker before taking my hand in hers. “Your turn!”

Within the blink of an eye, she had placed her heart on my hand. I wanted to carry it everywhere with me. I wanted to boast it to everybody, but I didn’t know how to do that. I didn’t know who to tell. I didn’t know what to say to make them understand how much it meant to me. 

Something about the electricity in Lei’s touch— something about the thought that the heart would fade from sight— sent me springing to my feet with the blurted excuse, “I’m not feeling well.” 

It wasn’t a lie. Suddenly, my heart was pounding in my chest, ringing in my ears, and my stomach was knotting and rising and sinking, and my palms were sweating, and there was a lump in my throat, and I was sick. I fished the gift box containing the cherry blossom charm for the bracelet that she still wore— that I hoped she would always wear— out of my pocket. Careful not to allow our skin to touch, almost afraid of the shock, I left it in her palm. 

I ran into the house, regretting that I sent Chanyeol away with my keys until I found him sitting on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. 

Through a mouthful of blue icing, Chanyeol asked, “Are you done now?” He glanced over at me and sat upright. “Hey, are you alright? Your face is a little green.”

I shook my head. “I’m sick. I’m going home.”

“Okay. Let’s go, then.” He snatched my keys off the table and stood from the couch. “I was gonna leave, but I don’t know how to drive a stick shift, and—” When I reached out for the keys, he offered, “I’ll drive if you don’t feel good.” 

I assured him that I was fine before beelining to the car, keys in hand.

Chanyeol was quiet until I raised my hand to the steering wheel. The moment he saw the heart, he broke into brain-rattling, side-splitting laughter. “Wow.” He wiped amused tears from the corners of his eyes. “I remember doing that craft in, like, first grade. Your girlfriend is ** _real_** creative.”

Something in my stomach fluttered, and I don’t think I liked it. Tightening my grip on the wheel, I instantly retorted, “It was **_my_** idea.” I should have said, **_“She’s not my girlfriend.”_**

Chanyeol noticed my mistake. “Oh,” he nodded his head sagely, “so she is your girlfriend!”

My face flushed, and my heart pounded again, and all I could think to say was, “Shut up, Chanyeol.” 


	11. The Girl Who Held My Heart

**Sehun’s POV**

Apparently, Manager Kim hosted an annual Christmas party attended only by Super Junior and whatever group she managed through debut or comeback. I only learned about it when EXO was invited. 

It had been over a year since Lei’s birthday party, where I learned that I had somehow fallen face-first in love with her. In that time, I figured that there was no escaping her— not when we worked at the same places, not when she was scattered through many of my memories, not when I had developed the habit of holding my breath until the next moment I saw her. In that time, I busied myself with the almost impossible task of telling her about the feelings that I couldn’t understand. In that time, I decided that maybe feelings aren’t meant to be analyzed and forced to abide by strict logic. 

So I walked into her house a year and a half after running from the fire in her touch with her gift in the pocket of my black blazer and three heartfelt words on the tip of my tongue. Those words had been dancing precariously on the edge, threatening to dive whenever I saw her backstage at Music Bank, whenever I saw her at company parties, whenever I saw her picture on social media, whenever I scrolled past our most recent text conversation. 

From the moment that I walked through the door and saw her— heard her singing some song with Yesung in the middle of the living room— I knew that I wouldn’t be able to bite them back again. Luckily, I arrived prepared to tell her anyway. 

I guess you could say that I had a one-track mind focused solely on speaking to Lei. Being new to the world of complex intimate emotions, I was hesitant to discuss them where anyone else could overhear. 

Finding a moment alone with Lei at that Christmas party proved even more challenging than securing her attention at the pool party. In the uncommon event that she wasn’t goofing around with Yesung, who must have been her favorite member of Super Junior, she was whispering something to Lucas, who was invited to the party even though he wasn’t a member of Super Junior or EXO. If she wasn’t with Lucas, then she was engrossed in conversation with Donghae, or she was drinking tea in the corner with Ryeowook, or she was helping Leeteuk and Shindong with their gingerbread village. 

An opportunity to speak with her privately presented itself when she walked into the kitchen, at Leeteuk’s request, to retrieve more gingerbread cookies from the oven. Forgetting to appear cool or somehow indifferent, I left Junmyeon, Baekhyun, and Chanyeol by the punch bowl in the dining room to follow after her. 

I filled the doorway, gasping when she hissed as she gripped the tray. I watched her jump away as the tray clattered to the ground with a metallic **_clank._** Disappointment flickered through her eyes as they lowered to count the ruined cookies sprawled across the dark tiled floor. 

While she threatened to spill tears over a batch of cookies, I could only think about the burn to her fingers. As if it were a life-and-death matter, I ran to her, kicked the tray aside because it stood in my way, and took her hand into mine. 

“What are you doing?” Lei eyed me curiously as I tossed her red oven mitt onto the counter to assess the faint, almost non-existent blisters on her fingertips. 

Knowing that the glove had absorbed most of the oven’s heat, I still turned the sink’s faucet and guided her hand under the stream of cold water. “It’s called first aid, Lei.” I avoided looking at her because everything in me screamed that this wasn’t the time to confess, and meeting her eyes would force the words out involuntarily. “You’re hurt, and I’m trying to make you feel better.” 

“It doesn’t really hurt, though,” she said. “It only burned for, like, half a second, but I guess that’s all it took for me to ruin Leeteuk’s and Shindong’s cookies.” I could hear her frown even when I couldn’t see it. 

Despite her insistence that she didn’t need my help, Lei didn’t pull her hand out of my grasp under the water when it would have been all too easy. I held her gently, afraid to prod the injury. She didn’t flinch away from my touch even when I brought her fingertips to my lips. Her breathing hitched, but I didn’t recognize that sound as an expression of pain (maybe) because I was inclined to believe that she felt as I did— that she came to life when we touched. 

I hated to let her go, to feel that distance between us again, but there was no excuse to cling to her once she pulled her hand away from mine. I glanced at her for the briefest second, hoping for some sign that she wasn’t rejecting my affection, and I was disappointed to find that her gaze was already fixed on the floor. 

She dropped to her knees in her white dress, apparently unafraid of soiling it. She used her hands to sweep the gingerbread men back onto the tray, I assumed, to later drop them into the bin in the corner of the room. I lowered to help, and— unable to shake the thought that she looked like an angel in her white dress and golden halo headband— I blurted into the deafening silence, “You look beautiful.” 

Tray in hand, Lei rose to her feet first. In the moments before I towered over her again, she stared down at me in utter astonishment. I guess I can’t blame her. That was the first time I had ever been so direct in complimenting her, and I had done so without warning. I hadn’t even meant to say anything; it was just too true to leave unsaid. 

In a small voice, she asked, “Why are you saying that?” I wondered if she was blushing under her makeup. I wondered if she fought to press her ruby red lips into a frown. 

I hadn’t expected her to swoon at my every word or anything, but— 

No. Maybe I had come to expect that sort of reaction. I expected her to brighten at my compliments not because they defined her or because I thought so highly of my own opinion, but because— because that’s what she had always done. The frown that stared down at me was so far from what I anticipated or dared to dream about that I know my face burned a humiliated shade of crimson. 

Lei hadn’t rejected me— at least not outright— yet I hesitated to find my footing. Like a fool, I couldn’t look away from her long enough to make my way to the garbage can, so I dropped my handful of cookies onto the marble countertop. 

When Lei raised her eyebrows, and I realized that she expected me to answer her question, I stuttered, “I— because—” I couldn’t tell her that I loved her when she was looking at me like that. I bit down on my tongue. 

I don’t know what I would have said if Chanyeol hadn’t sauntered over to us, nearly tripping over his own two feet. 

“Isn’t this just adorable?” His words slurred together. Because he spent the entire night drinking from the punch bowl that Baekhyun spiked, Chanyeol reeked of alcohol. “Why don’t you two just kiss already?” 

From his place between us, Chanyeol slung one giant arm around me and the other around Lei, and he tried to force us together. I don’t think I have to tell you that I didn’t want Chanyeol to be the catalyst or witness of our first kiss even if he was too drunk to remember the details. Still, I didn’t resist his efforts with half as much frantic energy as Lei did. She writhed and frowned as she swatted Chanyeol away. 

Breathless from her aversion to kissing me, I fixed my gaze on the fragmented cookies on the counter. “Cut it out, Chanyeol.” I didn’t know that my voice could get so quiet. 

“No!” Chanyeol shook his head wildly. He must have made himself dizzy; when I glanced at him, his eyes were crossed. Leaning against Lei and nearly knocking her over, he rambled, “I don’t think he’s ever gonna tell you, so lemme just do it. Ya know, he’s been keeping us all up at the dorm, rehearsing his speech about love and rain and cotton candy—”

Suffice it to say that I hadn’t expected anyone to have overheard the confession I spent months preparing. Considering how much time, effort, and genuine emotion I had poured into putting my thoughts into words, it was insulting to hear Chanyeol summarize them in his drunken state. To tell you the truth, I would have been humiliated had Chanyeol— or anyone, for that matter— spoken about my feelings in a sober well-intentioned state. They were _**my**_ feelings, and I had gone to great lengths to embrace them, and for somebody else to try to speak about them with authority and ease—

I dug my elbow into his ribs, and Chanyeol burped. “And I just knew that he was talking about you because he’s always had a **_thing_** for you even though I don’t know what he sees in you—”

As annoyed or upset or furious as I was that Chanyeol had once again diminished my love for Lei to the phrase ‘a thing,’ my concern deepened when he acted on his habit of insulting her. Although Lei didn’t so much as blat an eyelash or show any sign that she was affected by Chanyeol’s monologue— her frown had leveled into an apathetic line— I pried him off of her. 

Chanyeol laughed, I assumed, at having pushed my buttons. “That’s not true.” He smiled at Lei for the first time. That’s when her stone exterior started to crumble. Brow furrowing as a dimple formed in her chin, she took a step away from him. That meant she also took a step away from me as Chanyeol claimed, “I never really hated you.” 

Lei didn’t believe him. I could tell from the way she blinked and swallowed some lump in her throat before training a hardened glare on him. She looked so angry at a glance that I almost expected her to yell at him or at least say something. Upon closer inspection, however, I realized that she was chewing on the inside of her cheek and tears were welling in her eyes. 

I caught the briefest glimpse of her tears before she piled all of the cookies onto the tray and carried them over to the garbage can. While her back was turned, I took the opportunity to haul Chanyeol out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and through a door marked with an Avengers poster— Lucas’s room. 

Despite his claims that he wasn’t that drunk, Chanyeol collapsed onto the bed. As if he was without a care in the world, he folded his hands behind his head atop Lucas’s pillow. Something about that sight sickened my stomach. 

“I don’t really care if you’re drunk,” I seethed, knowing well that he was at least tipsy. I closed the door in the hope that none of our conversation would flood into the party below. “You couldn’t have picked a worse time to fill Lei’s head with a bunch of crap.” 

Waving a dismissive hand, Chanyeol argued, “Everything I said was true.” 

“That’s not the point!” Chanyeol flinched at my roar not because he felt any degree of guilt, but because he probably had the beginning stages of an alcohol-induced headache. Pinching the bridge of my nose as I pressed my back against the wall, I stuttered, “I— just— is everything a joke to you or something? I get it. You hate her—”

Again, Chanyeol said, “I never hated her.” 

“Right, whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “If you’ve known all along how much I love her— if you knew that I was planning to confess, then why would you step in and ruin everything? Why did you have to make everything so— so—” I didn’t know the right word to say, so I decided to ask, “Why did you make everything so awkward?” 

Chanyeol said, “You should be thanking me! It was already awkward! I was just trying to take some of the heat for you!”

I couldn’t even argue because Chanyeol was right about at least one thing: the conversation leading into the confession was not going well before he inserted himself. I had no idea what I was doing. Maybe, by some bizarre logic, I should have been grateful or somehow relieved that somebody else had addressed my feelings first, but I wasn’t. 

I don’t usually consider myself a perfectionist, but it was clear to me that all hopes of having an ideal romantic moment with Lei were lost. Maybe they were lost before Chanyeol meddled, but it was easier to blame him than to acknowledge that maybe— tragically— Lei and I were out of step again. It was easier to glare at Chanyeol than to imagine that maybe Lei had finally outgrown me now that I was so desperate for her. 

My hand closed around the doorknob, prepared to slam the door closed behind me, when Chanyeol spoke up. “Wait a minute. I want to give you something.” Because I didn’t turn around to accept it, he threw the poorly wrapped box at my head. 

“Ow.” I rubbed at the injury as I picked the box up from the floor. Now sitting up, Chanyeol dodged the wad of wrapping paper that I launched at him. I rolled my eyes at the box’s contents. “Really, Chanyeol? Mistletoe?”

“Yeah,” he smirked, “to help you with your confession!”

As I shook my head, I think that my frown deepened, but my growing sense of annoyance didn’t stop me from carefully tucking the mistletoe into the pocket that also housed Lei’s cotton candy charm. 

“Hey!” Chanyeol shrieked when I launched the mistletoe’s box at his head. “You’re so ungrateful!” My hand closed around the doorknob again, and Chanyeol jested, “Think of me when you’re kissing your little girlfriend, punk!”

Gagging, knowing well that Chanyeol would be the last thing on my mind if ever I got around to kissing Lei, I closed the door and left him to fall asleep in Lucas’s bed. Kissing Lei was not a part of my confession plan when I arrived at the party, and it seemed like less of a viable option when she hadn’t even reacted well to a compliment. Still, I had to smile when my fingers brushed against the mistletoe in my pocket. I had to smile at the daydream even if I didn’t know how to make it a reality. 

Downstairs, the party thrived as if I had never been humiliated by Chanyeol’s loose tongue. By the punchbowl, Baekhyun convinced Lucas to down one glass after another, and (apparently) Jongdae considered it some kind of competition that Jongin moderated in mild disgust. Yesung and Ryeowook were the centers of attention as they claimed the karaoke machine for a duet. Siwon was helping Leeteuk and Shindong with the finishing details of their gingerbread village before Kyuhyun snuck up to pluck mints and gumdrops from the buildings undetected. In a corner of the room, concealed by the bright blinking Christmas tree, Donghae watched as Manager Kim and Heechul threw their heads back in laughter before sipping from their matching red mugs of hot chocolate. 

I think I would have approached Donghae a.) had I known what to say to distract him from his jealousy or pain or whatever emotion etched those lines in his forehead, and b.) had I not remained devoted to speaking to Lei, who was not in the kitchen, living room, or dining room. 

The way I found her can only be described as a happy accident. Under the excited chatter played an unfamiliar piano melody that beckoned me into a den whose entrance was mostly obscured by the Christmas tree. Frowning and alone, looking quite small in comparison to such a large instrument, Lei sat at the grand piano. Even when I eased into the space next to her on the bench, she remained focused on the keys. 

I was almost hesitant to break the silence to say, “I didn’t know you played the piano,” as I watched her slender fingers create music without hesitation. Whatever she was playing— she knew it by heart. 

“I’ve played since I was a child.” She sounded very much like all adults do when they place distance between their present and past selves. “Donghae taught me to play the piano and the guitar.”

“I didn’t know,” I repeated, frowning. I guess I was bitter at being clueless about a fact that was likely common trivia for fans— people who hadn’t even met her. I guess I was uncomfortable with the thought that there was more to Lei than what I had always known. 

Lei shrugged. “It’s not really common knowledge or anything. I’ve never produced my own ballad or played the piano live, so I guess this is a hidden talent.”

“Why?” Noticing the frown weighing on her lips, I frowned too. “Why would you want to keep this—” I nodded to the piano— “hidden?”

Even when she broke her concentration to glance up at me through her eyelashes, Lei didn’t hit a sour note. I don’t think she was capable of doing that. “I don’t,” she argued shortly. “The agency thinks that upbeat dance songs suit my image. My job is to perform what they write for me.” 

Suddenly, I understood why her melody was so unique. “You write songs,” I said not as a question but as a general statement. 

I don’t know why my mouth fell open in surprise. Lei was poetic— artistic— and it only made sense that she would pour her soul into something as beautiful as music. 

She muttered,” I wouldn’t want to perform them anyway.” Her gaze fell back onto the piano keys, but her hands stilled. Although I hadn’t expressed any confusion or disbelief, she explained, “It’s one thing for people to hate me for music that I’m not emotionally attached to, but what am I supposed to do if people misunderstand the things that truly reflect me?”

In some ways, Lei and I were very different people, and in moments like that, our differences were obvious. Don’t misunderstand— I loved performing, but it wasn’t an emotional outlet for me. I didn’t have as much to say as she did, I guess, so I didn’t feel like I sacrificed much to be who the agency wanted. There was probably no shortage of criticisms of me to be found on the internet, but I had never been the kind to seek them out. I guess I was lucky enough to have never cared who liked me. 

Because I couldn’t force my mind to work the way Lei’s did, I didn’t know what to say to make her feel better. I squirmed under the weight of her sadness. “Well, what if somebody loves the things that truly reflect you?”

She removed her hands from the cold keys, pressed them flat in her lap, and stared down at them. “I don’t know, Sehun. To tell you the truth, I can’t really imagine that.”

I opened my mouth to tell her that she didn’t have to imagine being loved, but I didn’t get the chance to say anything. Brow furrowing, she studied me through narrowed eyes. “I’m sorry— are we just going to act like that— that stuff— that happened in the kitchen didn’t happen?”

“Could we?” I laughed at the tingling embarrassment swelling in my gut. Lei didn’t so much as crack the tiniest forced grin, so I tried to adopt a more serious expression. “Look, Chanyeol says stupid shit even when he’s sober, so—”

“Yeah.” Lei agreed instantly with the nod of her head. “Yeah, I would have to be stupid or delusional to believe that you could ever like—” She choked on her words and blinked, wincing as if I had struck her. “Well, I’d have to be the biggest fool to ever take Chanyeol or any other boy to heart, huh?” Her lips trembled as she forced them into a smile. 

I knew that Lei was on the verge of tears, so why didn’t I explain that Chanyeol hadn’t been lying or even exaggerating to laugh at our expense when he said that I liked her? I don’t know. 

Probably because I didn’t know what to say, because I didn’t trust my voice to improve the situation, because I wanted to skip ahead to her next sincere smile, I pulled her gift out of my pocket. It wasn’t wrapped as neatly as her birthday gift because I hadn’t sought Junmyeon’s help. Still, the glittering snowflake pattern on the white paper was pretty. 

Lei accepted it, and her thumbs traced over the snowflakes. They must have been pretty to her too. Her eyes, which were already glossy with tears, widened as she lifted the small cotton candy charm out of the box. 

“I promised I would get you another one,” I reminded her, suddenly unable to stand the silence even if it was safer than conversation. “Remember when you almost cried at Puroland because your cotton candy melted in the rain, and I had to throw it away?” She said nothing until I nudged her. “Remember?”

“Yes.” She smiled this sad sort of smile that made me wish I hadn’t said anything at all. “I remember. I told you, I remember everything you’ve ever said to me.”

I hoped that the things I said— the things that she remembered in vivid detail— were worthwhile. I hoped that I was more than a memory, but more than that, I hoped that the me of the past was as good in hindsight as I planned to be in the present and future. Because I didn’t know how to express those hopes with words, I reached for her hand and fastened the new charm to her bracelet. 

Determined to create a moment worth remembering, I forced my voice into a light whisper. It wasn’t as hard as I imagined it would be. “You know, this one will never melt. You can keep it forever. Now, that day can be a happy memory.” 

Lei pulled her hand out of my grasp to wipe at her eyes. “Thank you, Sehun. This is so thoughtful. I wish I had something to give you.” 

Lei was never really content to just receive a gift. She had this idea that every favor had to be repaid and every kindness had to be reciprocated. Somebody needed to tell her that love is giving without expecting anything in return, but I didn’t know that well enough to say it back then. 

I don’t know why she stood from the piano bench, but I followed, likely stirred by the fear that she would run to someplace that I couldn’t follow or hide in someplace that I couldn’t find or couldn’t quite reach. 

“I don’t need anything,” I told her as I reached for her hand again, desperate for some kind of contact— for some guarantee that she wouldn’t leave even if it was just temporary. “But I know something that I want.”

Lei tilted her head to look up at me, lips puckered as if she read my mind, knew my every wish, and decided to grant them. “What is it?” 

The idea flooded my mind so quickly that I didn’t have time to consider whether it was good. I fished Chanyeol’s mistletoe out of my pocket and dangled it over our heads. 

Lei admired it with round eyes, and her jaw dropped, and she gasped, “Is this real?”

She was adorable. All apprehension melted from her eyes, and she looked at me like she used to: like I hung the moon she loved so much. It didn’t matter that I knew I never once stood among the stars because she made me believe with one glance that I had. For maybe a fraction of a second that might as well have lasted forever, the fear of being a source of heartbreak or disappointment faded next to the blinding desire to be everything she ever dreamed of. I know desires like that don’t last forever and that no plan to completely restructure oneself for another is ever successful, but I felt it, and maybe that counts for something. 

While counting the stars in her eyes, melting at the wild imagination that **_I_** put them there, I wondered which of our many moments she remembered most clearly then. Was it the first— when she called me handsome without hesitation as only a child can? Was it the rain at Puroland since I had just revived that memory with a gift? Was it the time I told her to stop following me? I hoped not. Was it the heart I had imprinted on her hand?

I never asked, so I don’t know. 

As for me: every moment blurred together to paint the portrait of this person who was the most precious to me as I took the first step in filling the distance between us. 

Should I be embarrassed to admit that she was my first kiss? I’m not. As I told you, I was wary of everything romantic, and— although she made my heart jump and ache— Lei was the first girl I ever trusted to affect me. To move me. Maybe she will be the only one. Of course, you can never be certain about these things, but I cannot imagine that anyone else will ever hold the heart that she cradled in her hands for those moments that our lips touched— the heart that followed her even if it could only do so in the quietest shadows. 

I’m lucky that nobody in Super Junior caught us because I swear I kissed her for an eternity, forgetting as my heart hammered in my chest that we were never really alone. A miracle happened. I forgot that somebody is always watching, and I never quite remembered again. Or maybe I didn’t care who saw my admiration. Maybe it wouldn’t have been the worst thing for somebody to see who truly mattered to me. 

When the moment ended, I didn’t want to let it go. That’s foolish, I know, but that’s a mistake everyone seems to make at least once: clinging to time whose only instinct is to flee. Ever evasive time. Ever fleeting time. Why do we try to cling to things that were never ours? It’s foolish, selfish, futile, but I understand why. It’s one of those things that you can’t explain; it’s the kind of knowledge that you only have after experience. I hope you never understand why. 

I opened my eyes first. I couldn’t bite back joyous laughter at the sight of her. She wasn’t even doing anything. She was just standing there, hands balled into fists at her sides, eyes closed. 

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of my laughter. I was too embarrassed by my outburst to meet her gaze. The silence was deafening and deepening my burning blush, so, dropping the mistletoe back into my pocket, I tried to make conversation. 

“So, was that your first kiss?”

She didn’t respond, but the answer was all too obvious. 

“It was, wasn’t it?” My cheeks hurt from smiling. 

She still didn’t respond, and I still couldn’t look at her. 

“Don’t be shy.” Like I was some expert in romance and affection, I told her, “You were good at it.” 

By then, her silence was making my stomach tighten in knots, but I wouldn’t ruin the moment by expressing anything other than happiness. I tried to joke or flirt or say anything to fill the silence. “You should be proud of yourself.” 

I finally looked at her. I think I winked. Then, I really couldn’t face her. “You just kissed the handsomest person you’ve ever seen.” 

At that, Lei didn’t even giggle. When I glanced down at her, she didn’t spare the tiniest smile. She must have been in shock. 

“I bet you wanna forget all about your dating ban, huh?” I asked, entirely too hopeful that she would break her silence to say ‘yes.’ “Just for me?”

I never got to hear Lei’s response— if she even held one behind her blank facial expression— because Minseok beckoned me to his side in the doorway. He said, “We have to leave.” 

“What?” I frowned. Having no intentions to leave when the night was young just because Minseok said so, I asked, “Why?” 

Flatly, Minseok answered, “Because Junmyeon said so.” He likely assumed that I would say nothing to challenge our leader. 

“Junmyeon?” My frown twitched. “I saw him earlier, and it looked like he was having a pretty good—”

“Stop arguing, Sehun!” Minseok rarely lost his temper, but his outbursts were always terrifying. 

I glanced back at the piano to see if Lei was watching him berate me as if I were a child, but she was nowhere to be found. Within seconds, she vanished. My heart sank. I had taken for granted that she would wait for me as she always had. Reasoning that the kiss was perfect, I never seriously considered the possibility that I had done anything wrong. 

Remembering that I spent much of my life running from my feelings, I figured that Lei was similarly afraid. Then, because I didn’t want to scare her or push her too far, I left with Minseok after dragging Chanyeol out of Lucas’s bed. For some reason, I clung to the belief that everything would work out in time even after Minseok tried to correct me. 

On the drive back to our dorm, he said, “The kiss was cute,” and I was still too ecstatic to be embarrassed that there had been a witness to such an intimate moment. 

I was still too numb with joy to care when Chanyeol, who had been laying on his back in the backseat, sat up to yell, “You kissed her?” I wasn’t even annoyed by the smirk that he must have donned when asking, “You used my mistletoe, didn’t you?”

I was still smiling like an idiot, tracing my fingers over my lips, when Minseok continued, “But everything you said afterward—”

As I finally caught on to his harsh tone, my smile started to falter. It started to crumble around the edges. I looked at Minseok and shrank under his piercing glare when he broke his gaze from the darkened road before us. I think it must have been raining. I remember turning away to watch raindrops race down the window. 

Minseok tried to speak softly, but his anger/disappointment was still all-too-audible. “I get that you’re new to romance and all, but you can’t just make fun of Lei whenever you get embarrassed.” 

“Embarrassed?” My eyes narrowed in confusion. “I wasn’t embarrassed! Well, maybe I was a little embarrassed when I laughed—”

“You laughed?” I could hear Chanyeol’s frown. Looking back, I think that’s when I should have considered Minseok’s point more carefully. 

Instead, I jumped to my defense. “It wasn’t like that! I was just happy, and—”

“Ah, I got it!” Chanyeol clapped his hands on the back of Minseok’s chair. “You were just being a big dweeb again! Relax, Minseok. Sehun just turns into a big giggling dork whenever he’s around his little girlfriend.”

Shrilly, reaching a pitch that made me and Chanyeol cringe, Minseok argued, “I will not relax!” Minseok cleared his throat with a sigh. “Whatever your intentions were, Sehun, you really hurt Lei’s feelings. I watched her eyes get watery, and—”

Because I didn’t want to believe him, I wouldn’t even let Minseok finish the sentence. “I was just kidding around.” 

Minseok nodded. “Right. Well, I’m telling you that Lei doesn’t know that. I called you away from the piano because I knew that she was about to cry, and—”

“What?” My eyes cut away from the window to dig into Minseok. “You said that Junmyeon wanted us to go home. You lied to me?” 

Minseok’s face turned pink in the moonlight. He repeated, “Lei was about to cry!”

Chanyeol gasped, “You came between Sehun and his girlfriend?” 

Minseok tried to explain to my furious blush and scorching glare, “I didn’t want to discuss this where anyone at the party could hear! I’ll take you back to the party, Sehun, if you promise to apologize, and—”

“Apologize?” I gaped at Minseok, almost laughing although nothing was funny. “Why should I apologize? I’m not sorry for kissing Lei, and I’m not sorry for flirting afterward, and—”

“You’re not sorry?” Minseok’s brow furrowed. Something about the way he looked at me took my breath and voice away. “Even though you hurt Lei?” 

Speechless, I shook my head, determined to believe that I hadn’t hurt Lei— that I hadn’t ruined what should have been a happy memory. The problem is: in hindsight, I can admit that Minseok understood Lei’s feelings better than I ever did. 


	12. A Boy Like The Sun

**Lei’s POV**

It was the best dream I ever had— the feeling of Sehun’s lips against mine. His touch was gentle— so gentle that I shouldn’t have felt it long after the moment passed, so faint that it shouldn’t still seize my heart and squeeze my lungs empty and wipe my mind of every thought except those of him. 

Sehun. Sehun, who was never mine. Sehun, who made me believe for a fraction of an infinity that maybe everything in life had led to that moment when he filled my every sense and painted my every thought and memory with colors that I had never seen once with open eyes. 

My best dream. My favorite dream. The dream that blessed me too many nights before and after it became a curse. The dream I would bring back to life every day of every week even if it ended the same way every single time. 

The problem with dreams coming true is that you always wake up or the dream becomes a nightmare. 

Never in a million years would I have believed that his smile and his laughter— the luxuries that were once so rare and more brilliant than the sun in my childhood world— would conspire to break my heart into a million little pieces that were too jagged and sore and bloodsoaked by the piano to pick up and fit back together.

Yes, it was my first kiss. 

He was my first kiss. 

Sehun was my first kiss. 

Sehun. 

And I wasn’t shy— just humiliated by his laughter at my expense. I was just humiliated that I couldn’t catch my breath. I was just humiliated by the urge to kiss him again because it— he— Sehun was everything I was afraid of wanting or needing to feel like one of those people who can smile in the sun and really mean it no matter how many eyes try to rip them apart. 

And I was, for a fleeting second that I wish with all of my soul had lasted forever, proud to have shared my first and only act of intimate affection with Sehun because I always imagined that he was so much more than handsome before he broke my heart with a smile and a wink. 

And if he would have loved me, even in his broken joke of a way that impaled me through the chest, I would have forgotten my refusal to date— just for him. I would have let him in every door, I would have helped him climb over every wall because — well— every wall crumbled at his touch. Not even his ill-timed laughter and mockery would rebuild them. Every door was always unlocked for him, and his kiss blew them wide open with a wild gust of tornado hurricane wind, and it would take all of my strength to lock them. 

I guess I have Minseok to thank for saving my pride. If he hadn’t called Sehun to his side and allowed me to run up to my moonlit bedroom where I could reconstruct my defenses— the defenses that I once imagined applied to everyone but the one who already held my heart in the palm of his hand— maybe I would have acted on that urge to rise on the tips of my toes to kiss Sehun again and again and again even if it was just a joke to him and Chanyeol, even if his heart could never swell for me or break for me, even if I could never look at him while remembering the beloved boy who was always beautifully too far out of reach, always opposed to love despite frequent expressive actions, always just slightly out of step, never quite on the same page, tragically never on the same path for long, never once in a million daydreams close to being mine. 

I closed the door on years of memories, years of looking at one person who never needed to look at me to have my love, years of falling for Lucas’s adamant belief that everything works out for those who are meant to be together, years of praying in the tiniest, most irrational piece of my heart that Sehun and I would someday—

Every thought died when I made eye contact with his poster that hung on my wall since his debut. All at once, as I removed it pin by pin, imagining that this was exactly what I would have to do in my mind with every one of his memories if I ever wanted to stop bleeding, tears streamed down my cheeks. 

Would you think that I’m pathetic if I told you how hard it was to be angry with Sehun for hurting me? Would you think that I’m weak if you knew how long I struggled to pack Sehun’s poster back into its container? Would you call me a fool if you knew that I almost left his photocards up on the wall because I wanted so desperately to remember him without that stabbing ache in my chest— because I wanted to forget that he told me I was annoying for following him and that he laughed at my first kiss and that he dashed my every conception of him? 

I don’t care if you would. 

It killed me to lock our memories away in that box. It killed me to unfasten his bracelet. I hated that I couldn’t just close my eyes and think of Sehun as I always had. I hated that I couldn’t trick myself into believing the lie that nothing had changed— that I wasn’t shattered. 

I don’t care if you think I’m weak because I don’t care about being strong anymore. After all this time, I have accepted that there is only one person who has ever held the power to fragment me like that. I have accepted that I am foolish enough to trust him with that power in every universe. What’s worse: I am okay with spending all that time crying in the dark if it gives me the vaguest hope that he could love me someday. 

I was hugging Sehun’s note that came with the bracelet against my chest when Lucas burst through the door, smiling and unsteady on his feet. “Baekhyun spiked the punch!” He cheered, holding up a clear glass of red liquid. “I brought you some!”

Lucas’s smile faltered when he sat on the foot of my bed. Setting the cup down on the floor, he asked, “What’s wrong, Lei?” 

And before I could decide what was worth sharing and what was worth locking away in the box, I threw myself into Lucas’s outstretched arms, sputtering, “Sehun— Sehun— Sehun—” 

I couldn’t say anything but his name. The name that still made my heart swell. 

Realizing that I couldn’t say anything else, Lucas ran a comforting hand up and down my back, promising, “It’s okay. Just let it out.” 

Until the embarrassment of baring my raw emotions overwhelmed the ache of a broken heart, I sobbed into Lucas’s shirt. If he didn’t smell so different— if he didn’t feel so different— if his voice didn’t sound so different, I would have imagined that (instead of Lucas) Sehun held me together that night. 

When I finally ran out of tears that Lucas could dry, when I finally untangled myself, I rubbed at my eyes. “I’m really tired.” My words blurred together in a pathetic mumble. 

“Oh,” Lucas hummed. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Well, if you’re sure—” I nodded— “then I’ll just go back downstairs.” He picked the alcoholic punch up off of the floor. “Just text me if you need me, and I’ll come running.”

“I know.” To prove that I would be okay alone— that I could heal alone— I tried to force a smile. Just before he walked out of the door, I asked, “Can you take that box away for me?”

“Sure,” Lucas agreed before knowing its contents. After taking a glance at Sehun’s picture, he swore, “I’ll take good care of this for you.” 

Practicing my hand at pretending to be strong despite the growing urge to snatch my box away from Lucas and return its contents to their rightful places, I lied, “I don’t care what you do with it.” 

Lucas blinked. He didn’t believe me, but he didn’t say so. “Someday you might,” was all he said before walking away with every token of my memories with Sehun.

If I thought that the memories would fade with those objects out of sight, I must have been disappointed breathless at the number of scenes that played in my mind as I stepped out of my white dress and heels into a set of sunflower pajamas. When I settled into bed, rubbing at the headache forming around my temples, I realized that I would never forget Sehun. Only with the greatest exertion of effort would I be able to hide my love for him (and my humiliating utter desperation for his love) behind a mask of exaggerated anger. 

Here’s the truth, if you want it: I didn’t love Sehun any less after he kissed me at that Christmas party. It was with great difficulty that I avoided him over the following two years. The embarrassed anger that would eventually swell in my gut with his mocking flirtatious remarks wasn’t an immediate response. For a while, I was still stupid enough to swoon at his glance. 

I was lying in bed, dreaming of how I would survive without surrendering any more pieces of my heart the next time I saw Sehun, when three knocks sounded at the door. My eyes opened wide to the sight of Baekhyun tiptoeing into my bedroom as if he were afraid to wake me. 

Although Baekhyun and I were not especially close, I didn’t feel bothered by his sudden, unannounced, unsolicited appearance. Spurred by curiosity that burned through my sadness, I sat upright and quipped, “Come on in, Baekhyun.” 

Turning toward me quickly enough to flick his orange-dyed bangs out of his eyes, Baekhyun broke into a glittering smile. “Thanks for the warm welcome!” 

He turned back to trace the outline of the place where Sehun’s poster stood for years. His touch was careful, hesitant as if he feared that the wall would crumble under pressure. “I was looking for the bathroom. It’s a happy accident that I ended up where you are.”

Owing to his devious smile, I didn’t believe that anything Baekhyun did was an accident. Still, I was afraid to say something that would send him away. Forgetting that I wanted to be alone just minutes ago, I didn’t offer him directions to the bathroom. “A happy accident,” I repeated under my breath.

He said, “The party is boring without you,” although he hadn’t said a word since ‘hello’ at the start of the night. “Can’t I convince you to go back with me?”

“I would follow you anywhere, Baek.”

My hand clamped over my mouth after the words fell out as if in an ill-timed effort to contain them. I don’t know why I said that. I had never followed Baekhyun a day in my life— not even that time at the SM showcase when he tried to lead me away from the first Sehun-induced heartache. 

“Anywhere?” Baekhyun winked and melted the block of ice in my chest. 

Stupidly, as if enchanted by his smile, I nodded, conditioning, “Just not tonight.” Although Baekhyun asked for no explanation as his gaze dropped down to his feet in a perfect picture of disappointment, I said, “My heart is too heavy tonight.”

“What if I carried it for you?”

Thinking that he couldn’t have been serious, I laughed until I felt his eyes on me. Something about the way he looked at me took my breath away— made my heart thunder as if it wasn’t broken— made me forget that I was supposed to be crying, mourning a dream that I never should have dreamed. 

Once I found my voice, I said, “I couldn’t ask you to do that.” 

“Somebody else is holding it,” Baekhyun muttered, likely assuming that I wouldn’t hear. He reached for the ribbon on my vanity— the one I wore on my debut stage— and I raced to reach it first. 

But I couldn’t beat Baekhyun. I don’t know why I tried in the first place. I don’t know why I didn’t want him to touch the item I hadn’t looked at since the first and only time I wore it. 

The ribbon was radiant in his hands. As he traced his fingers over it, eyes widening and glittering as if it were an artifact of his wildest dreams, I told him, “I’m holding my heart. I can feel it pounding. Breaking. Aching. It’s mine again, for the first time that I can really remember, and I wouldn’t give it to someone like you in its current condition.” 

In a wounded whimper, Baekhyun repeated, “Someone like me?”

My heart stilled. I was quick to explain that I wasn’t trying to insult him. “Yeah. A boy like the sun.”

Baekhyun’s eyebrows pinched together to form little wrinkles in his forehead. “The sun?”

“Yeah. Somebody who can smile in the sun and mean it no matter how many eyes try to rip them apart.” I burned at how easily I could speak to Baekhyun, who was little more than a friendly acquaintance, when I was a stuttering, blubbering mess around Lucas, who was my best friend. 

The stars shone in Baekhyun’s eyes a thousand times brighter than they ever did in the sky. I couldn’t look away from them. I couldn’t forget them. Sometimes, I count them when it’s hard to fall asleep. 

“That’s what you think of me?” Baekhyun beamed. His smile made me smile too. “You think I’m like the sun?” 

“You’re probably brighter than the sun, Baek.” 

Suddenly, he was too bright, and there were too many parts of myself that I wanted to hide in the shadows. Although I didn’t want to, I needed to look away from Baekhyun’s smile. My eyes fixed on the ribbon in his hand, and I reached for it again. 

Holding it just out of reach, Baekhyun looked down on me with a muted form of his sunshine smile. “Have you ever heard about ribbons and soulmates?” When I shook my head, flushing at the word ‘soulmate,’ Baekhyun continued, “I learned about it from my second favorite love story. Apparently, if you give a ribbon to someone or if someone gives a ribbon to you, your souls will be tied together forever. So be careful of who you give this to.” 

Struggling to imagine that Baekhyun was the kind of person who watched or read romantic stories, much less believed romantic superstitions, I narrowed my eyes at him, waiting for some outburst of laughter. “Do you really believe in that sort of thing?”

Baekhyun shrugged. “The couple in the story was together forever, so it can’t hurt to be careful.” He pressed the ribbon into my palm. His skin was fire against mine— a flame that warmed but didn’t scald. I think that’s the first hint that I was dreaming. Feelings like that don’t exist in real life. 

Maybe I scalded him, though. Maybe I gave him frostbite. Baekhyun’s hand flinched away from mine, and he looked down at it as if expecting to find a scar or a blister. There was nothing there.

Frowning, I said, “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” 

Baekhyun looked up from his hand to meet my eyes. “Huh? You didn’t hurt me. You could never hurt me.”

I wanted to ask him how he could be so sure about something like that, but I didn’t even want to imagine hurting Baekhyun, so I made a joke instead. Grinning down at the ribbon in my hand, I asked, “You gave this to me. Does that make you my soulmate, Baek?”

He blinked a few times, mouth falling agape before a smile broke across his face. “Don’t make a big deal of it.” 

Those words— they struck a familiar chord within my heart, within my memory. I closed my eyes and remembered a golden pink sunset coloring a cotton candy sky, a crown of white roses, a white rose in his coat pocket, a fountain where we made wishes. Deja vu. The memory with Baekhyun that played in my mind had never happened, but still I— I could feel it. 

The last time I heard him say those words to me, did I want to kiss him as badly as I did that night in my room? I must have. Whether it was in another dream— because surely, this was a dream— or another lifetime, those words must have inspired the singular desire to bridge all distance between us. 

The dream prompted me to take the first step toward him— the first step I had ever taken in my life— ribbon still in hand, and I would have brushed my lips against his in pursuit of some cosmic miracle if he didn’t wheeze, “This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.” 

My eyes, which I must have closed in preparation for some eclipse, opened to the sight of Baekhyun’s eyes swimming in tears. I would have done anything to take that look from his face, even if it was a figment of a dream turned nightmare. Leaping away (despite my persisting desire to cling to him) because I knew I was accidentally the source of his tears, I opened my mouth to apologize. 

Baekhyun didn’t give me a chance, though. Gnawing at his lips as if he was afraid that I would try again to kiss them, he bowed to me. “I’m sorry, Lei. There’s something really important that I have to take care of. Don’t—” A tear streamed down his cheek— “If we’re dreaming, don’t forget me when we wake up.” 

Before I could promise that I wouldn’t, he bolted out the door without glancing back. He was gone just as suddenly as he appeared. And I missed him. I miss him. 

Maybe Baekhyun knew how to carry others’ broken hearts, and maybe he didn’t need permission to do so. After he left, and I settled back under my blankets, the ache in my chest was almost gone. 

I fell into dreams about him— laughing down by some lake, arguing in some darkened corner of an SM banquet hall, talking by the side of some pool, driving through my hometown late at night with the sunroof down, tossing coins into a wishing fountain, stumbling into his arms at a party where we matched from head to toe. Dreams— maybe they’re memories from another life. Maybe I woke the next morning, haunted by the hope that I loved Baekhyun in another life and that maybe, someday, if I did everything right, I would get to live that life again. 

I dreamed of Baekhyun, burned as I wondered how I would ever face him, squirmed as I debated whether he was in real life anything like he was in dreams. 

And then I remembered the dangers of wasting one’s life dwelling on dreams— even the best ones. And I learned to be content with his mischievous glittering smiles and the memory of the stars in his eyes. And I never quite packed it away— the hope that there would be a time for him someday. 

Of course, I think I forgot just about everything when I saw ** _him_** again— the one who could send me falling with just a glance. 

Sehun. 

Maybe my heart was mine, but that was only due to the force with which I held it whenever Sehun stood too close, calling it to him without words. That was only due to the scowl that I sculpted onto my face whenever the white-hot sting of his laughter wasn’t a distant enough memory. 

And even then, if I’m really honest, if I hold nothing back, I’ll admit that my heart was secretly (not-so-secretly) his all that time.


	13. The Girl By My Side

Although I wracked my brain for weeks, I couldn’t think of a reason to appear at Manager Kim’s Christmas party aside from the obvious one: I wanted to see Lei.  
When I say that I missed her, you have to understand that she was almost impossible to catch in conversation at company events. Whenever I texted her to make plans to meet at the movie theatre or at the park or anywhere else that I heard young couples congregate, she was equipped with an excuse to be anywhere I wasn’t.   
Maybe I remember Minseok’s warning only in hindsight. Maybe at the time, no part of me imagined that Lei intentionally avoided me because she wished our kiss never happened. Maybe I didn’t want to believe that she could hurt me on purpose.   
That second Christmas since our kiss wouldn’t have been the first that I didn’t wish her a happy holiday face to face, but I was anxious with the sense that I needed to give her a gift. That’s why I gave money to Baekhyun, who was determined to attend the party with or without an invitation.   
“Don’t spend it on anything stupid,” I instructed sternly without looking away from the television. “Get something that will make her smile.”   
When I glanced at Baekhyun for some confirmation that he heard me, he saluted. “You got it, boss!” After skipping to the door, he stilled with his hand on the doorknob. He cleared his throat. “Are you sure you don’t want to go with me?”   
I paused the game, eliciting a groan from Chanyeol. “To the store? Or to the party?”  
Baekhyun shrugged as he straightened his bowtie. “Either one.”   
I think I was about to follow Baekhyun out into the snow before Chanyeol barked, “Don’t tempt him, Baekhyun! Don’t you know he’d do anything for that Lei kid?”  
My face flushed at her name. No, my love for Lei wasn’t a secret anymore. I’m sure that it was visible from miles away to anyone with eyes, but it wasn’t the sort of thing I wanted to discuss with Baekhyun (or anyone, for that matter). It wasn’t the sort of thing I wanted Chanyeol to describe as some terrible weakness or some harmful habit that needed breaking.   
“Is that so?” Baekhyun’s eyebrows twitched upward. I expected a teasing smile to follow, but it never did.  
“Yeah!” Chanyeol answered on my behalf. “And I told him to stop pining after her so desperately, so he’s not going to buy her a present or spend all night ogling at some party!”  
For the record, I didn’t plan to stay in that night because Chanyeol said so. If I could think of a half-way convincing reason to go to the party that wouldn’t make me seem like the total lovesick loser that I was, I would have gladly tolerated Chanyeol’s scolding for the rest of my life.   
Tiring of the game and the conversation, I grabbed my phone off of the coffee table and walked into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate.   
While I rooted through the cabinets for some snacks, Baekhyun said, “Whatever.”  
Chanyeol asked, “Why are you so determined to go anyway?”  
I strained to hear Baekhyun reply, “You never know when you’ll meet destiny.” Then, he closed the door.   
I don’t know who Baekhyun thought he was, saying something so inappropriately epic and shrouding the room in confused silence before leaving. It was like him to bewilder everyone, but he was usually louder about it. Something about his calm, determined demeanor set me on edge in the moments before Donghae called me with the perfect excuse to attend the party where I hoped to secure a few more moments with the person who held my heart.   
Maybe I should have asked more questions when Donghae and Eunhyuk sent me to Lei’s house with their wrapped gifts, but I was too thrilled to have a reason to stand at her door.  
When she opened the door, she greeted me with the cold question, “What are you doing here?” Her eyes widened like she was surprised by the sound of her voice.   
Mine did too. I couldn’t get used to her new way of speaking to me. Except— after two years, was it really a new habit? By then, it seemed so natural, so effortless, so painless for her that I couldn’t remember the last time she smiled at me. If I couldn’t feel their mark on every inch of me, her glare might have convinced me that our memories were long lost daydreams.   
I looked up and away from the pooling tears in my eyes that I swore were a reaction to the blistering winder wind— not to the Lei-induced crumbling in my chest that should have been too routine to hurt.   
“Merry Christmas to you too.” Maybe I tried and failed to force a smile for her. Or maybe I told myself again that this bickering was just a new style of flirting. I don’t know. I can’t remember. Or I don’t want to remember.   
“Would you let me in, please?” I begged, shivering. “It’s freezing out here!”   
Lights twinkled around her as she leaned against the doorframe, too close and all too far away. If she wasn’t stomping on my heart— if she could just smile instead of scowling— she would have been a sight worthy of a photograph.   
No. Even then, she was beautiful. That’s why I couldn’t look away from her.   
Realizing that she wouldn’t let me any closer until I told the truth, I said, “I’m here to represent Donghae and Eunhyuk, not because I want to spend Christmas arguing with you—”  
“Oh.” Lei wheezed. She crumbled against the doorway.   
Every light in her eyes burned out. Imagining that I might re-ignite the stars, I stepped forward and reached out to her with an apology, but Baekhyun reached her first.   
As if he wasn’t shattered by her tear-filled expression— and I guess he wasn’t— Baekhyun smiled with all the intensity of a burning sun. A candy cane dangled out of his mouth, staining his lips and chin sticky red.   
“Come on, Lei.” Baekhyun nodded at the wrapped gifts in his hands. “Yesung, Ryeowook, and I want you to open your presents!”  
Draping his arm over her shoulders as she was perfectly within reach, Baekhyun steered her away from me with such ease that I couldn’t bring myself to follow— at least not until I restructured my stoic expression.   
After slamming the door closed, earning stares from Yunho and Changmin (he asked me to call him Changmin instead of Max), who sang a TVXQ Christmas song on the karaoke machine, I wandered into the kitchen. There, I found Manager Kim standing alone.  
When she looked up from the batch of freshly baked gingerbread cookies that I assumed would construct Leeteuk’s and Shindong’s gingerbread village, her eyebrows knit together in concern. Maybe she could see aching hearts.   
“Sehun,” she said in a voice that sounded so much like her daughter’s that I almost closed my eyes and imagined that Lei followed me into the kitchen like she would have once upon a time. “What’s wrong?”  
In the dining room— just one wall away— Yesung asked Lei the same question.   
I listened for her reply.   
Lei said, “Nothing— it’s just— snow makes me cry.”  
She was a terrible liar, but I was worse for copying her.   
Manager Kim frowned. If she was disappointed that I kind of crashed her party, she didn’t show it. She was even kind enough to believe my unconvincing lie. I guess that’s fortunate because I probably would have shown her all of my wounds if she asked again.   
“Well, I guess snow is beautiful in a tear-jerking sort of way.” She smiled at me. I wish I could tell you that I played no part in breaking that smile.   
As I set her gifts on the counter, eager to escape this person who could see through all of my guards— this person whose secrets I knew without permission— I said, “Donghae and Eunhyuk are sorry that they couldn’t make it. They hope you have a merry Christmas.”   
Manager Kim’s smile transformed into the same heart-wrenching expression that hollowed Lei’s features in the doorway. Her gaze fell onto one of the packages as she traced along a ribbon. “Donghae isn’t coming?”   
My voice caught in my throat, but I wanted to tell her that I was sorry. I wanted to tell her that I knew from the way the stars faded from her eyes that she loved Donghae the way he loved her. I wanted to tell her that maybe we were alike; maybe we both regretted the distance we placed between ourselves and the ones we loved even though it was the right thing to do once upon a time. I wanted to tell her that Donghae couldn’t fall out of love with her even if he tried, that whatever wound kept him home with Eunhyuk when all he ever wanted was to be with her would heal in time.   
Gathering all of her strength to blink through the tears that she didn’t want me to see, Manager Kim smiled at me again. “Thank you, Sehun,” she said as if I had no hand in her pain. “Have a good time!”  
Stupidly, I replied, “You’re welcome.”  
Although it was clear that she wanted to be alone, and I didn’t know the words to comfort her, I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I probably would have stood there all night if Baekhyun hadn’t called my name from the dining room.   
“Where the hell is Sehun? I want you—” he must have been looking at Lei— “to open our gift now!”  
I walked into the bustling dining room with her name on the tip of my tongue. I think it must have fallen past my lips because she looked at me with wide eyes from her seat. For a second that I tried to cling to, she almost smiled at me. I let myself believe that that was her true reaction to me. The thought almost made me smile even after she trained her hardened glare onto the table.  
My face burned. I swallowed a lump in my throat before forcing myself to say in the most insincere uninterested tone, “Don’t thank me too much if you like this.”   
I snatched the silver-wrapped gift from Baekhyun and forced it into Lei’s hands. I carefully avoided her eyes because, if I met them, then she might see that I was breaking and then— what would I do if she didn’t care?  
“Baekhyun paid for half of this.”  
Lei was staring at me, tearing me apart with her eyes. If she could see the effect that she had on me, why wouldn’t she look away? I never thought that she could be so cruel.   
Finally, she looked away. I had seconds to catch my breath before she opened the box to reveal an intricately woven mistletoe crown.   
Simultaneously sinking and soaring at the sudden ever-surfacing memory of our kiss, I blurted, “What the hell is that?” as I lifted the small wreath from its box, all too aware of Lei’s scowl even when I avoided it.   
Baekhyun skipped over, snatched the mistletoe crown from me, and dropped it on her head. “It’s a crown!” He beamed at her. Then, like a scene from a nightmare that I had thankfully forgotten, Baekhyun tucked a strand of long brown hair behind her ear and pressed a kiss to her cheek. He stained it red with his candy lips.   
At first, I didn’t think that Lei noticed. I could breathe. Her gaze was focused too intently into the kitchen. Then, the briefest, faintest tremor of a smile tugged on her lips even as Yesung yelled, “What the hell is going on here?”   
She raised her fingertips to brush gently at the spot where Baekhyun’s kiss grazed her skin. Or maybe her fingers moved on their own. I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you. All I know is that I still trace my fingers over my lips as if that will take me back to that moment when her lips first met mine.   
Before I could even process what I had just witnessed, Lei ran into the kitchen.   
Before I could even process what I had just witnessed, I grabbed Baekhyun around the shoulder and hissed, “What the hell was that?”   
“A kiss,” he answered plainly with the shrug of his shoulders. “Don’t you know that people kiss under the mistletoe?”   
From the sharp glint in his eyes, I understood that Baekhyun had either witnessed or heard about the kiss Lei and I shared under the mistletoe. I couldn’t understand why he would go to such lengths to humiliate me over it. I couldn’t understand why he would mock me without the faintest trace of a grin.   
He was gone, strutting toward Lucas (who stood by the punchbowl in the living room) before I could ask. None of his answers would have satisfied me anyway. None of his answers would have justified the knotting my chest.   
Burning under the gazes of Yesung, Ryeowook, and an older woman (who I later learned was Lei’s grandmother), I ran away. Maybe I thought that the feelings wouldn’t follow me if I moved quickly enough. Of course, they were impossible to shake.   
I stopped in the doorway of that den to catch my breath. I couldn’t step closer to that piano. I couldn’t bring to life my recurring dream of tracing my fingers along the keys that Lei traced even though I was almost certain I pieced together the melody. I couldn’t look anywhere in that corner now that it was growing clear that Minseok was right: our kiss was not a happy memory for her.   
Why couldn’t I regret it, then?   
Maybe it was all the more precious because it was once in a lifetime. I don’t know.   
Gnawing through the inside of my cheek, I tried to pack the memory of our kiss into a box where it would be safe until these drowning floods passed, but I— I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pack it out of sight. When I closed my eyes, that memorized scene replayed and replayed. Even when I started to agree that it was bittersweet, it was still mostly sweet. I still wanted to live there again, and I swore to God or fate or the universe that if I could just relive that moment, I would do everything right.   
My eyes opened and the scene cut only when a hand landed on my shoulder. Standing next to me, Changmin diluted his concerned expression. “Are you okay?”   
I nodded numbly, but I don’t think he believed me.   
Squeezing my shoulder, he asked, “Can I give you some advice?”   
Again, I nodded.   
“If you really want to be with her,” Changmin whispered, kind enough to lower his voice and omit her name, “you should make your move before she walks away with someone else.”   
“What?” I wheezed, but Changmin didn’t repeat himself before joining Kyuhyun in wreaking havoc on Leeteuk’s and Shindong’s gingerbread village.   
He didn’t have to repeat himself. Already, in the blink of an eye, I realized that Baekhyun of all people was the one I was always afraid that Lei would meet. The one who could warmly embrace her every joy and pain. The one who could easily string together the words she longed to hear. The one who would boast that he loved her instead of running and clinging to privacy in the dark. The one who wouldn’t be too embarrassed by romantic gestures to give her flowers. The one who would watch the moon and stars with her while gently dispelling her every fear.   
Judging by how he noticed her first when she flew down the stairs, Baekhyun knew. He knew. My stomach lurched in unprecedented envy.   
But Lei didn’t run to Baekhyun. She ran to me, nearly colliding with me as she muttered, “I need to talk to you.”   
I blinked at her, disgusted at how I could swoon at her voice despite her piercing glare. Crossing my arms over my chest because maybe then my heart wouldn’t be able to hammer its way to hers no matter how hard it tried, I asked, “What’s wrong with you?” I mumbled because the lump in my throat grew with the effort of feigning indifference only because— because— she was indifferent first. “Can’t find your soulmate?”  
Her face flushed, and I wondered if she knew his name too.  
Just as I was about to point Baekhyun out— although he should have been obvious from worlds away with that unadulterated stare that didn’t look at all pathetic on him— Lei grabbed around my black tie. She pulled me out the front door, groaning, “I don’t have time for your games.”   
I didn’t protest because I would have followed her anywhere. She didn’t have to drag me. She didn’t have to slam the door. She had me. I wasn’t going anywhere, and I didn’t care if she was supposed to be with somebody else because— because— because— even if it was for a blink in time, she was with me.   
She was with me, and I couldn’t let go.   
I’m so sorry if she missed out on a universe of happiness because of me, but I couldn’t quite believe in all of those fairytales about destiny anyway. I couldn’t quite believe in soulmates anyway. But maybe— maybe I could if somebody told me that she was mine.   
Maybe I wanted to hear it from her.   
I forced a chuckle. “I hope your soulmate didn’t see that. There’s no way he wants to watch you grab another guy by the tie.”   
Lei rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe in things like that.”   
It was beyond obvious that she was lying when that dimple formed in her chin. I hated that she lied to me. I hated that she pressed her pretty red lips that should have been smiling into a line just because she was talking to me. I hated how things were. I hated that I didn’t know how to change them.   
“Right.” I scoffed at her jaded young adult act. I gagged at how she could hide her radiance behind a shitty broken mask. “I guess you’ve really grown up then, huh?”  
Is that what she thought adulthood was? Losing her daydreams one by one? Who taught her that? Was it me?   
Her eyes, which had been fixed on my face for a moment that made my cheeks burn, darted away as she muttered. “I wish you would. Honestly, I wish you hadn’t even come.”   
Although I didn’t believe her, another piece of my heart crumbled. How much more was left to go? I didn’t want to know.   
“You don’t mean that,” I huffed as I reached out for her, desperate all at once to feel her, to feel that we were in the same place at the same time. “You love seeing—”  
Lei wrenched her arm out of my grip and incinerated me with her gaze. It hurt when she swore, “No, I don’t.” I shrank away as one does when engulfed in flames, but she kept burning me, and I kept loving her. “It’s one thing to tease me. I don’t like it, but I don’t really expect much else from you. One day, I won’t give a shit what you say. And until then— well— I guess I’ve never been able to stay mad even though you make a fool of me again and again. But I will never forgive you for what you’ve done today.”   
What had I done?  
Genuinely frightened by Lei’s ability to hold a grudge, no matter how irrational, I reached for her again. I spun her in my arms and lowered my face to hers so that neither of us could look away no matter how much we wanted to. She looked into my eyes, gasped, and I almost expected her to ask again, “Is this real?”   
I fought the urge to reenact that memory. “What’s wrong with you?” Then, because I thought she was going to cry, I joked, “Are you upset that I didn’t kiss you instead of Baekhyun?”  
Her lips twisted into a frown. “Is everything a joke to you? What makes you think that I want you to kiss me?”  
“I don’t know.” My face inched closer to hers, and I pressed a kiss to her cheek. I know it was the same place Baekhyun kissed because her skin tasted like peppermint. With the pad of my thumb, I wiped away the little remaining red stain.   
“You’re a real jerk, you know that?” Her voice was smaller then. She still stared right into my eyes, and again I laughed at the joy of kissing her. “It’s not enough that you ruined Mom’s night, so now you’re determined to remind me of how you ruined my Christmas a couple of years ago?”   
Finally releasing her, I stuttered, “I— I ruined—”  
I couldn’t even finish the sentence now that I knew beyond all doubts how she regarded what I wanted so desperately to believe was a moment worth remembering. A moment worth replaying.   
I changed the subject to something I could stomach. “What’s wrong with your mom? I didn’t do anything to—”   
“Oh, no, you just delivered the cruelest gift on Donghae’s behalf, right? Because you can’t resist the opportunity to make me miserable—”  
“You’re right!” My temper exploded with her most recent misunderstanding, and I admitted, “My entire world revolves around you! I only came here tonight because I wanted to see you! God only knows why when you treat me like dirt under your shoes.” Looking anywhere but her eyes, I huffed, “Maybe if I’d known that there was somebody else—”  
“Stop saying things like that!” She yelled, pulling at the ends of her hair. “You know that there’s nobody else! You know that!”  
Breathing raggedly through the renewed hope that she still only looked at me, I whispered, “You can’t— you can’t just—” I couldn’t finish the sentence.   
Rubbing at her temples, she asked, “What do you want from me, Sehun?”  
I wanted her to kiss me. If she kissed me, I would immediately forget about the past two years of rejection that culminated in her pretty little smile when Baekhyun kissed her. If she kissed me, I wouldn’t hurt anymore. If she kissed me, I could breathe again.   
But I couldn’t tell her that. I wasn’t angry, but sometimes when I’m hurt, it’s easier to yell than to break down in tears. “What do you want from me, Lei? Do you want me to apologize for kissing you? Because I won’t. Should I say that I’m sorry for giving your mom gifts from my friend when I didn’t even know what they were?”   
She opened her mouth, and I probably should have let her speak, but I continued on the verge of tears, “Without telling you, I’ve done so much for you. I’ve felt so much for you. I’ve walked so far for you. I’ve carried and guarded so many secrets for you, and you just— It’s bad enough that you stopped loving me, but did you have to start hating me?”  
She opened her mouth again, and I still continued, hoping that she couldn’t see the tears freezing to my face, “Obviously, I don’t expect you to love me. I don’t expect you to thank me or repay me, but would it kill you to just—”  
Looking past her for just a second, I saw that Baekhyun had drawn the blinds to watch us from his place on the couch. Blinded by rage and jealousy, I grumbled, “Whatever.”   
My eyes fell on the mistletoe crown that represented everything that I couldn’t have anymore. Without thinking, I ripped it off of her head and lied, “You look stupid with this shit on your head.” Without even trying to, I broke the crown in half.   
Before I could apologize or otherwise try to wipe her tears, Heechul nearly knocked me over on his way into the house. As I struggled to find my footing, Yesung stormed onto the porch, yelling, “Who the hell do you think you’re messing with? Get lost!”  
Because Yesung wasn’t somebody I could argue with, and I knew that it was only thanks to Changmin and Yunho’s hold on him that he didn’t storm out into the snow to beat me to a pulp, I had to walk away. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to leave Lei with another bad memory.   
I didn’t feel well enough to drive, so I rounded to the back of the house and sat in a corner where I figured Yesung wouldn’t find me. I never would have imagined that I sat beneath Lei’s window as I twisted the halves of her mistletoe crown into malformed hearts that I shoved into the pockets of my coat.   
I almost thought that I had gone mad with guilt when I heard her voice asking, “Are you okay?” I looked into the sky to find her climbing out of a window. She was always crazier than I gave her credit for.   
When she planted her feet into the ground before me, I wrinkled my forehead. “Aren’t you mad at me?”   
“Hell yeah!” She shivered in her sleeveless red dress, so I offered her my coat. She refused it, but I dropped it over her shoulders anyway. “But I’m worried about you too.”   
She was worried about me? After all the trouble I caused? I couldn’t understand, but I didn’t want to discourage her compassion.   
“I’m okay,” I told her, “if you’re okay.”   
She looked at me for a second. Then she looked up at the full moon amidst the snow flurries. When she looked at me again, her eyes were swimming in tears. “I’m not okay, Sehun.” She hugged herself and fell against the wall because she didn’t trust me to catch her. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just— you’re the one who always put me on track before that kiss derailed everything. I— I’m sorry for needing you, but I need to hear your advice just one more time. Please.”   
When Lei broke down like that, I regretted all of the space between us more than ever. I told her, “It’s okay if you need me,” even if it wasn’t. I held my hand out to her. “Come on. Let’s go for a drive. You can tell me all about whatever is hurting you.”   
To my surprise, to my relief, she nodded. “Okay.”   
When she fit her small frozen hand in mine, she winced. She tried to pull it away to prevent me from seeing the gash across her palm, but she couldn’t hide the red bloodstain she left on my hand.   
I waited until we were safe from the cold in my car to ask, “What happened to your hand?”  
She didn’t try to lie to me. She didn’t crouch to hide behind any defenses. Staring down at it, careful not to let her blood drip onto my coat, she answered, “I hurt myself with the frame holding the picture Donghae returned to Mom tonight.”   
I leaned across the center console to pull the first aid kit out of the glove box. I raised an eyebrow at her like I know I did when she was little— the last time I confidently gave her advice. “Why did you do that?”  
“Obviously, I didn’t mean to.” She whimpered as I pressed the alcohol swab to the wound, probably knowing as well as I did that it would scar. “I was just so angry— no, I was just so hurt that he could return such a beautiful memory. I slammed the picture frame down on my vanity, forgetting that glass breaks.”  
Trying to bite back the frustration in my voice, I said, “You need to be careful. It’s normal to feel anger and sadness, but you have to take care of yourself better than this.”   
“I know,” she sighed. “I know. You’re right. I can’t afford to be so careless.”   
Moments passed in silence as I tended to her wound, feeling for the first time in a long time that I was helping her again. I was protecting her again. I was proving that I loved her.   
“How— how could he let go so easily?”   
I tied the bandage around her hand as carefully as I could, reasoning, “Letting go is never easy, Lei, but sometimes—” I struggled for the words— “sometimes, you have to let go to meet someone with a smile again.”   
When I looked up at her, tears slid down her cheeks with the broken confession, “I don’t want Donghae to let me go. Why— why am I the only one who can’t let go?”  
I set my car onto the road only to distract myself from her sobbing. That was the only way I could give her the conversation she asked for. “I don’t know why Donghae returned that photograph. I swear, if I knew that it would make you cry so much, I never would have brought it.”   
“You didn’t know?”   
“I told you I didn’t,” I reminded her, frowning. “I would never, ever hurt you on purpose.”   
She whispered, “I think I knew that, but— you know— you can break a heart on accident.”  
My mouth went dry, so I had to shake my head until I found my voice. “No. Actually, I didn’t know that, and I bet Donghae didn’t know it either. We only talked about it once—” I squirmed at the memory of that day on the boat— “but I know that he loves you and your mom. I know that he never meant to make you cry like this, and he would apologize if he were here.”   
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her dry her tears. “You think he still loves us?”  
“I think love is a forever sort of promise.” That was only slightly embarrassing to say out loud. I would have said it a thousand times more if it would make her feel better. “Donghae has loved your mom for so long that I don’t think he could stop even if he wanted to. And he thinks the world of you, Lei. Nobody who knows you ever stops loving you.”   
I glanced over to catch her smiling out the window. Her smile— even when it wasn’t directed at me— made me smile.   
While I watched the road, I guess she watched the stars until they encouraged her to whisper, “I’m sorry that I accused you of conspiring to break my mom’s heart.”   
“It’s okay,” I promised, showing her my smile to prove that I wasn’t permanently offended. “I remember that if your whole world was just one person, it would be her. I understand.”   
She hummed, “You remember,” and I felt her eyes on me. I felt that she was looking at me like she did on the bus when she said those words years ago. “Sehun, I must have said that about ten years ago.”   
“Has it been that long?” I laughed because I didn’t want to admit that I was uncomfortable with the concept of time. “I didn’t realize. I just remember everything that you’ve ever said to me.”   
It wasn’t until she shrank back in her seat that I realized she had been leaning toward me. “Oh,” she probably pouted, “you’re teasing me again.”  
I cut my eyes at her, frustrated by her refusal or inability to recognize my affection. “Why is it that whenever I try to be romantic, you accuse me of teasing? I act like a brat when you act like a brat, I try to make your heart flutter when you make mine flutter, and still you don’t get it. Are you this dense, or do you just want to hear me say it out loud?”  
“I’m not dense,” Lei spat at me, “but I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. My heart has never fluttered.”  
Again, I looked at her, expecting to find her laughing at my expense. She wasn’t. She watched me with narrowed eyes because she truly didn’t understand.  
Maybe, I realized after drawing a deep breath, I hadn’t made myself clear. Ignoring the frantic pounding of my heart, I explained plainly, “I love you. I’m in love with you.” And for a few seconds, I was finally comfortable. It was finally out in the open for her to believe, and then we could move on.   
Except she didn’t believe me. Except she argued immediately, “No, you’re not.”   
That pissed me off. Don’t think just because my heart moved for her and I knew that she penned every star in the sky that Lei didn’t drive me crazy. I glared at her. “Who are you to tell me who I love? I love you, Lei. I’m in love with you!”  
“Stop saying that!” Her yell was more of a whine.   
“I’ll say it as much as I want!” I retorted, tightening my grip on the wheel. “These are my feelings, and obviously I have to spell them out for you! You don’t have to love me back. You don’t have to be my girlfriend. Just accept that I love you.”   
“But you don’t! And if you did, you would stop if you knew…” Her voice trailed off in pursuit of a question I hoped she wouldn’t ask. “What did you mean when you said that you’ve kept and guarded secrets for me?”   
I stiffened in my seat. “I don’t think you want to know about that.”   
“I do.”   
“Then I don’t want to tell you,” I said, mentally cursing Donghae for telling me secrets.   
“Sehun,” she pleaded, saying my name in that way that made my heart swell. I bet if I had looked over at her, all of the cosmos would have gathered in her eyes. “Please tell me.”   
She would have been impossible to resist if I didn’t know that I was acting in her best interest. “I can’t tell you, Lei. Try to understand that I’m trying to protect you from things that can only hurt you.”   
“It can’t be that bad,” she reasoned. Then, just to get under my skin, she asked, “And since when do you care if I’m hurt?”   
Pulling the car over onto the side of the desolate street because I couldn’t drive and argue at the same time, I cried, “Since always! I’ve always cared!”   
She raised her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright.” She desisted just long enough for me to start driving again before saying, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to thank you if you don’t tell me what you’ve done for me.”   
To tell you the truth, she was very nearly on my last nerve, but I was too glad that she wasn’t crying anymore to snap at her. “I already told you— I don’t need you to thank me.”   
Realizing that all of her other efforts to loosen my tongue had failed, she reached for me across the center console. Without hesitating, I lowered one of my hands from the steering wheel to feel her palm— the one without the bandage— against mine. It was an unfair tactic, resorting to physical affection.   
“Seriously, Sehun, if you know any other secrets about me, I need to know.”   
My heart, which thundered at her touch, stopped beating in my chest. I frowned at her. “What do you mean, ‘any other secrets?’”  
She had accidentally talked herself into a trap. I expected her to try to backpedal, but instead, she asked, “Do you promise that you won’t tell anyone?”   
Gently, as if she might break under the slightest pressure, I squeezed her hand. “Of course, I promise.”   
Like she had been waiting for the opportunity to trust just one person, Lei blurted in one breath, “My mom is the idol who never debuted.” If I hadn’t been listening for those exact words, I probably wouldn’t have understood what she said.   
That’s why she wasn’t okay. That’s why she was hurt. Her entire perception of reality had been challenged with that information. I didn’t know how long she struggled alone before dragging me onto the porch.   
I asked, “How did you find out?” hoping that she hadn’t struggled for long.   
Her hand trembled in mine. “What kind of reaction is that?”  
“I’m serious,” I barked, forgetting my resolve to be gentle. “Who told you that?” I took a deep breath and released her hand before I could risk hurting it. I pinched at the bridge of my nose. “In case you can’t tell, Lei, I’m pissed.”  
Sounding not at all wounded by my tone, sounding only curious, she asked her old favorite question. “Why?”   
“I’ve known that for years,” I admitted, knowing that I probably wouldn’t have been able to meet her gaze if I didn’t have the excuse of driving. “And as somebody who has gone out of their way to keep that secret, I want to know who told you.”   
“Nobody told me,” she answered calmly once she realized that I wasn’t joking around. “I just overheard my mom saying it. Why—” she must have noticed my deep-set frown— “why are you so upset?”  
Why was I upset? Hadn’t I told Donghae that Lei deserved to know that? Wasn’t this the best way the truth could have been broken— without a great spectacle, straight from her mother’s mouth?   
It was uncomfortable to admit the feelings that weren’t warm and golden, but I had to tell her something when she looked at me like that— like I was the vaguest, most complex mystery on the planet. “I’m upset because I know that knowing that hurt you; maybe it still hurts you. I know that you went into that weird headspace of blaming yourself for ruining your mother’s career even though you didn’t, and I wasn’t there to talk you out of it. I know that if certain people— especially the press— get a hold of that information, they’ll use it to give you hell, and I— I don’t want you to be hurt like that.”  
“Oh.” That was her default word to express surprise at the affirmation of what she already knew. That word was overwhelming and not enough.   
“Is—” I couldn’t bring myself to look at her— “is that what you meant when you said that I would stop loving you if I knew everything about you? Were you afraid that I would run once I found out that your mother is the idol who never debuted?”  
Maybe she crumbled under the weight of the disappointment in my voice. She defended herself with the claim, “It’s kind of a big deal.”  
Because I couldn’t deny that, I told her, “It has nothing to do with you. That— that plays no part in who you are to me. Knowing that didn’t stop me from falling in love with you.”   
In a small voice just above a whisper, she asked, “If you love me, then why did you laugh after you kissed me? Why did you break my mistletoe crown?”  
“I—” I buckled under the weight of the burdens I never meant to place on her shoulders. “Lei, please don’t laugh at me—”  
“I would never,” Lei promised, again reaching for my hand.  
I let her hold me because I believed that her touch would make me brave enough to admit, “I— I was happy! You make me happy! I’ve never— I never felt that bubbling in my chest before I kissed you. It tickled, and I couldn’t help but laugh. I didn’t think you would get so quiet.”  
I pulled the car into her driveway and looked at her just in time to catch the ghost of a wistful smile on her lips as she recalled, “It was my dream come true.”   
I opened my mouth to ask what was her dream come true, knowing well that she referred to the kiss, just because I needed to hear it said aloud. My words stopped dead when I noticed that her smile turned into a frown as she said, “I didn’t know that there was a timer on admitting that before you would start with those stupid, cruel—”  
“I was flirting!”  
“Well, you have an asshole way of flirting!” Her pale face flushed scarlet. “Were you flirting when you broke my crown in half?”  
“Why— why are you so fixated on that?” I tried to match my tone to hers. It wasn’t easy. In the end, I sounded just as devastated as I felt when I asked, “Is it because Baekhyun gave it to you?”  
Lei fumed, “No, you asshole! It’s because you gave it to me!” Gradually, her tone softened as she explained, “It’s because that was the only gift of yours that wasn’t packed away in a box! Maybe— maybe it hurt me, but it was nice to have something out of the box.”   
“Stop calling me an asshole!” I bristled at the insult.   
“Stop acting like one!”   
“I’m not!” I ran both hands through my hair and turned my glare out the window because I didn’t want to glare at her. “I’m baring my heart to you, and you’re ruining the atmosphere with your foul mouth!”  
When I stole a secret glance at her, she rolled her eyes and formed her lips into a pout. “I’ll just shut up then!”  
“Fine!” I yelled even though it wasn’t fine— even though I wanted nothing more than to talk without screaming until my throat was raw— even though I wanted to convince her that I loved her even though it wasn’t easy.   
“Fine!” She yelled because she was every bit as stubborn as I was.   
We sat there in silence because neither of us wanted to be the first to speak. We didn’t reach for the door because neither of us wanted to be the first to walk away. We didn’t pull away from each other because neither of us wanted to let go.   
As moments passed, the fear that she would find the will to walk away and shut me out again grew until I took the first step into becoming the bigger person. “You packed my other gifts into a box?” My eyes wandered down to her bare wrist. “Is that why you don’t wear the bracelet anymore?”  
Her eyes hesitantly met mine. They widened, I guessed, because mine widened first in disappointed surprise. “I— I was trying to let go so I could smile the next time I saw you.”  
I stuttered, “O-oh,” and all at once those years of catching faded glimpses of her at company events— those years of clinging to calculated insults— those years of watching her race away from me— they fit into our story. I understood them despite hating them.   
“I— I couldn’t do it though,” she reluctantly admitted without removing her hand from mine. Her thumb traced over the lines in my palm. “It was too hard. Impossible, maybe. So I asked Lucas to hide the box from me, but I— would you think that I’m weak if I told you that I still look for it sometimes?”  
“No,” I answered instantly. “I don’t think you’re weak. You don’t know how to be weak.” Glancing out at the stars through her window, I said, “You don’t have to let me go. You don’t have to pack us into a box. You don’t have to shield yourself from me. It’s just me. I would never hurt you.”   
“But you did,” she quietly reminded me. From the way I collapsed back in my seat, she might as well have screamed at me. “I know you didn’t mean to, so I’m going to forgive you. I— I would forgive you even if you meant to break me. I know I would. I—” she spoke so softly that I had to lean toward her to hear, “I love you too much to glare at you for the rest of my life, but I— Sehun—”  
The way she said my name— did it make me sink or soar? The way she said that she loved me— did it fill my lungs with new air or steal my breath away? The way she looked at me— would I ever be able to forget it, or would it fill my dreams for the rest of time?   
Carefully, releasing all of her anger with her tightening grip on my hand, she explained, “Telling me that you love me now doesn’t turn back the clocks before all the nights I cried over you. Telling me that you love me now doesn’t move the clocks ahead to the day when I can look at you again without wanting to cry.”   
Maybe Lei was on the verge of tears— maybe those were tears glittering in her eyes instead of stars— but she wouldn’t look away from me. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she was transfixed by me the same way I was transfixed by her.   
I think that I should have tried to be selfless enough to look away if that would walk her away from the verge of tears, but I couldn’t do it.   
“How do I turn back the clocks, then? How do I move them ahead?”   
Deep down, or maybe right on the surface, I knew that time is an untouchable force. I knew that it was cruel to ask Lei for answers that she didn’t have. I was sorry that I asked, but I guess she needed to hear my desperation to make things right.  
“I don’t know,” She hummed as my breath caught with the thought that she was going to lean to rest her head on my shoulder. When she didn’t, I sighed in disappointment. “I heard that time heals most wounds.”   
Time. Was it an enemy or a friend?   
“Okay,” I nodded, deciding at once that I would have to charm time into becoming my best friend. “Then I’ll wait for you to heal. I’ll wait for you. I just—” I avoided looking at her because I didn’t want to pressure her into saying what I wanted to hear. “Should I stand far away, or—?”  
“Please don’t.” Lei laced her fingers through mine, likely stirred by the fear that I would run to someplace that she couldn’t follow or hide in someplace that she couldn’t find or couldn’t quite reach. “Please,” she whispered, breathing deeply as if to suppress an outbreak of tears, “please stand where I can see you.”   
She didn’t have to beg for me to do anything. Until I heard the desperation in her voice, I thought that I wanted to find proof that she wanted me too. Once I found it, though, I almost wanted to pretend that I hadn’t. I didn’t want to remember her in this vulnerable light. As quickly as possible, I wanted to pass through this painful period.   
Still, although it hurt, although it wasn’t yet happy, I was glad to have this moment with her. Maybe— maybe I almost smiled because I was just grateful to fate (which I still didn’t quite believe in) for giving us a new memory that could be bittersweet— but mostly sweet— in hindsight. Maybe I was just thankful to be with her after years of catching her for moments at a time in passing.   
“I’ll stand by your side,” I promised. “You won’t have to look far for me.” I traced my thumb along her knuckles to memorize the feeling of her skin against mine like the sensation would fade with the rising of the sun.


	14. The Boy I Love Forever

**Lei’s POV**

To tell you the truth, I didn’t want Sehun to apologize for kissing me. Despite the glare that darkened his features when he swore that he wouldn’t apologize, I guess I was relieved by the imagination that there was nothing to regret about that memory after all. I guess I tingled at the thought that maybe he meant to steal my breath away, meant to make my heart race, meant to fill my every thought.

To tell you the truth, I didn’t want Sehun to apologize for delivering the news that Donghae wouldn’t attend the Christmas party. No apology would fill the void in the holiday left by Donghae’s absence. I didn’t want Sehun to apologize for bringing that old photograph back to Mom at Donghae’s request. The damage was already done. Besides, even in my moment of pain-fuelled rage, I knew that no blemish in the evening was really caused by Sehun’s hand.

It was obvious that I was straining to find some grudge to hold against Sehun. As long as I was angry about something, I could ignore how devastatingly handsome he looked in the pale winter moonlight. I could ignore the painful hammering in my chest when his eyes met mine. Anger could obscure the memory of his baby-soft lips on my freezing cheek just inches away from my parted lips. I could tell myself that my body was suddenly warmed by burning hatred— not by his touch.

The trouble is, I didn’t believe myself. I never believed for a fraction of a second that I had outgrown my adoration of Sehun. Sehun, who was always calm, cool, collected— the very definition of the quiet stoic strength I sought to emulate— until that night. Sehun, who somehow fell for my unconvincing act and believed that I stopped loving him. Sehun, who believed that I was actually capable of hating him in any version of the universe.

I didn’t want to hear his apologies. I didn’t want to hear his insecurities. I didn’t want to watch his eyes widen in horror as he stared at my broken mistletoe crown in his hands. I didn’t want to watch him walk into the snowy darkness at Yesung’s demand. I didn’t want Yesung to usher me into the house that should have been warm enough to thaw the block of ice in my chest. The burning fireplace and the cup of hot chocolate Lucas forced into my hands and the multitude of sympathetic stares from everybody, (especially Baekhyun, who tried to smile at me from the couch) didn’t reach the block of ice, though.

Maybe a part of me wanted to risk annoying Sehun by chasing him into the dark. Maybe I wanted to abandon the morbid sense of pride that I developed over the years of denying myself the right to love who I loved. Maybe those tears that filled his eyes exposed that what I hoped was hard-won strength was actually a deep sense of shame.

Once Lucas and I were alone in my bedroom, I admitted to him (and, more importantly, to myself), that I absolutely wanted to follow Sehun at least one more time to tell him that I didn’t hate him— that I never hated him— that I could never hate him. Once I realized that anyone thinking that I hated Sehun was worse than everyone knowing that I loved him, I confessed the truth.

**A Collection of Truths:**

  1. Every part of me was in love with Sehun— even the ones I tried to keep hidden in the dark.
  2. Even when we were screaming on the porch, I wanted to kiss Sehun.
  3. If loving Sehun was a weakness, I didn’t want to be strong. I didn’t care who saw me in my weakened state.



“Is that so?” Lucas asked, wide-eyed, sipping from his mug on my bed. He was nice enough to act surprised by what he knew all along.

Burning crimson after my unrestrained honesty, I set my mug on the floor and crossed my arms. “I’m not gonna repeat myself or anything. You heard the first time.”

Lucas nodded out the window. “He’ll probably want you to repeat it once or twice, though, so you might as well practice with me.”

I followed Lucas’s gaze to find Sehun standing atop a pile of snow just below my window. At first, my heart thumped at the thought that he had come to find me because he also wondered how he would sleep when we stood on such uncertain terms. Then, when moments passed and his eyes were still intently trained on the mistletoe in his hands without sparing one glance at me, I realized that was not the case. It was a happy accident that he was so close, still barely out of reach.

Maybe Lucas was right when he cheered, “It’s fate! What are you waiting for?”

I was still too afraid to take the first step toward Sehun when he was just a blink and a breath away. Shrinking away from the window so he couldn’t see me if he looked up with the wind, I mumbled, “I can’t go out there.”

“Why not?” Unable to meet Lucas’s disappointed frown, I stared at the place on my wall where Sehun’s poster once stood.

The paint was still faded. There was still an outline of his place that I could not yet fill even when Lucas urged, “Lei, he’s literally right here! If you don’t want any of that stuff that happened tonight to leave a scar, then just go out there and make a new, better memory!”

Lucas spoke with such enthusiasm that I almost believed that I could climb right through the window and into some fairytale with Sehun. Then, I opened my eyes and remembered that every image of myself as a princess was crafted for the stage. It wasn’t real. Fairytales weren’t real— especially not on that night when my mother’s heart was broken.

“What about Mom?” I asked, throat tight with the recent memory of her tears and the knowledge that she was probably still crying down the hall. “Do you think that I should go out with— with some boy while she’s—”

“He’s not some boy,” Lucas interrupted. “He’s Sehun. The person you’ve loved since you said hello. Your pain and Mom’s— they’re both valid— and I don’t think that she would feel any better knowing that you’re avoiding happiness for her sake. Mom told you to have fun at the party, and we both know that the person who will bring you closest to fun is right out there, twiddling your broken crown in his hands!”

Fun. Was that a word I ever associated with Sehun? No.

Still, Lucas was right. Like the coward I was when it came to him— to Sehun, who I couldn’t quite trust to hold anymore of the heart he warned me to guard— I searched for any reason to legitimize my fear. I was willing to use my mother as a shield, as a right to forfeit what I was too afraid to fight for only to lose.

Like the hopeless romantic that I was when it came to him— to Sehun, who could steal my heart from afar even when I confined my admiration to seconds-long glances out the window— I searched more desperately for something to encourage me to act on the urge to meet him halfway or most of the way or all of the way.

Does that make me weak or foolish or childish or submissive? I used to wonder before Lucas permitted me to let go of my stubborn definitions of strength.

“Just go.” He nudged my ribs, smiling softly. “Take all of the time you need. I’ll cover for you if anyone downstairs asks where you went.”

When I still didn’t feel brave enough to take the first step, Lucas asked in a small voice, “Don’t you think you’ll regret it if you let this moment pass?”

Maybe it was because of something Taeyeon once told me in the moonlight of her kitchen; or maybe it was because Lucas had to go to the trouble of opening the window for me; or maybe it was because of the sharp sting of the winter wind that made my eyes water as Sehun’s had on the front porch; or maybe it was because of the constriction of my heart when he looked at me, eyes filled with a unique blend of amusement and disapproval at my sudden appearance out of the second-floor window— but the overwhelming emotion of the night was regret.

Regret at all the time wasted in misunderstanding. Regret at all that time wasted crying in my room under the watch of the moon when I could have been with him, Sehun, who held out the world in manageable palm-sized pieces even when he glared at me from the driver’s seat like I was a stubbornly ignorant child. Regret at all the time spent apart that inclined me to believe that he didn’t love me even when it was written clearly on every feature of his handsome face, even when it was woven into the bandages he tied around my bleeding wounds, even when it was etched into every line that formed into his forehead with the furrowing of his brow.

Regret at the ragged sigh that fell from his pretty parted lips when I confessed that every glance at him made me want to sob into my palms, omitting the all-too-humiliating fact that everything about him still sparked my childhood curiosity of what it might be like to be destined to love one person forever. Regret at the fact that I couldn’t spend the rest of the night and the rest of my life in his car with my hand in his with the dawning realization that he loved me.

He loved me. Sehun loved me. Sehun loved me enough to forgive me for yelling and running and tiptoeing around his feelings that were too good to be true.

Regret at the reluctance with which my bandaged hand reached into the pocket of the warm black coat he dropped over my shoulders to brush against the fragmented mistletoe crown. Had curiosity struck me sooner, I could have plucked it from the pocket, held it over my head, and seen that flustered regret-numbing smile dash across his face sooner.

“Put that away,” Sehun instructed, reaching for the mistletoe. As I lifted it out of his reach, he tried (and failed) to bite back laughter. “Seriously, Lei. You don’t need a silly broken piece of mistletoe to get a kiss out of me.”

“Really?” My heart fluttered. I lowered the mistletoe, but I didn’t quite drop it back into the pocket. “Do you mean that?’

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Are you getting excited?”

Because I now knew that he was flirting— and all of those similar comments that surrounded our first kiss were other attempts at flirting— a bubbling warmth spread through my chest. That warmth pulled my lips into a smile that I couldn’t have fought away with all of the effort in the world.

At the risk of further painting myself as an absolute fool, I’ll admit that I would have been content to kiss Sehun forever if he hadn’t broken away to again confess, this time breathlessly against my lips, “I love you. I’m in love with you, Lei.”

And I— I wanted to remain skeptical just in case he changed his mind with the rising of the sun, just in case I was dreaming again.

More than that, though, I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that the lights in his eyes weren’t cast by the moon or the stars or the strings of lights lining my house; I wanted to believe that those bursts of light were some physical manifestation of his affection for me.

I already believed it, so I told myself that it didn’t have to last forever to be beautiful. If he was a moment that I embraced with my all, then there would be nothing to regret at breaking dawn. If nothing else, I would make him my most beautiful memory My most beautiful dream. My precious Sehun.

“Sehun,” I said because I could never say his name enough even if it flew from my lips for the rest of my life. “Do you remember when I said that you can walk with me anytime?”

“Yes.” His lips fit with mine. They were warm, soft, gentle, not at all what you would expect from him at a glance, not at all what you would expect without knowing him as intimately as I did. “I remember.”

“I meant that,” I said between kisses, almost wanting to cry each time we parted. “Always— always, I will keep a door open for you, and I’ll protect our memories, so if you change your mind—”

“What?” His face paled. A frown twitched in the corner of his mouth, and I wish I hadn’t said anything. “Lei.” He said my name sweetly, sending me into a spiral when I thought I couldn’t fall deeper. Sehun sighed my name, stealing my habit of preparing for the worst-case scenario. “You don’t have to believe in forever to be in love, but you shouldn’t offer to carry the weight of goodbye on your own. I understand that your mind rushes ahead to goodbye, but I wish it wouldn’t— at least not with me.”

Being seen as clearly as Sehun saw me in that moment was frightening and comforting— a nightmare and a dream. Had he been anyone else in the world, I would have wanted to disappear, but Sehun— Sehun didn’t have to see me to know me.

“I believe in forever,” I argued quietly. “I know that I will love you forever.” Then, set ablaze by the embarrassment of my honesty and the thought that I admitted to feeling too much too soon, I stuttered, “I— I mean—”

Sehun didn’t have to speak to silence me. He only smiled, deepening my blush and stealing my voice. “You don’t have to take it back, Lei. You can love me as much as you want for as long as you want. Please.”

The word ‘please,’ forced all remaining air from my lungs. I never before needed Sehun’s permission to love him, but once his plea hit my ears, I realized that I must have craved it for quite some time. No sooner than the words passed his upturned lips did I lean into him once again for another dream-fulfilling kiss.

Maybe I should have considered whether we were in danger of being caught by party guests— specifically Yesung, who would have been most disappointed to find me kissing the boy from the crown-breaking incident— or paparazzi. After all, someone was always watching. That fact had been impossible to forget since Sehun first taught it to me. That truth echoed in every corner of my mind until those moments Sehun’s lips were on mine, until those moments when Sehun breathed into me and left no room for thoughts other than _ **‘I love you, I love you; forever I will love you because forever I have loved you.’**_

Pulling away to try (and fail) to catch my breath, missing him instantly, I asked Sehun, “How did we get here?”

His pale face was flushed crimson. His blush was visible even in the moonlight. If only I knew the words to describe how beautiful he was as he shrugged and grinned, tracing some shapeless form on my cheek with the pad of his thumb, maybe I could create a portal back to that moment when the stars aligned.

“I’m not sure,” he answered. “I’m just glad I followed you here.”

Thinking that life was as it was meant to be for the first time in a long time (maybe for the first time) because Sehun was by my side where I could see him, speak to him, hold him, kiss him, and love him like I always dreamed about, I smiled at him.

I walked into warmth from the frozen snowstorm separating Sehun’s car from my home to find Mom, Grandma, Heechul, and Lucas watching a drama starring Park Seojoon, my favorite actor.

For all of about two seconds, I was relieved that the party cleared out during my absence because that meant I wouldn’t have to listen to Yesung lecture about boys, I wouldn’t have to hide my smile from Kyuhyun, who would have instantly pieced together that I had been out with the boy on Super Junior’s hit list, and I wouldn’t have to stomach Baekhyun’s sympathetic puppy eyes that still seemed to burn into me when I glanced at the then-empty couch by the window he earlier claimed.

Before I could comfortably settle into the couch and peel back the curtains and blinds to see if Sehun’s car still sat within sight, Heechul immobilized me with his glare. “Did you have fun on your midnight rendezvous?” He asked loudly as if oblivious to the fact that Mom laid her sleeping head in his lap.

Fun. Maybe that was a word I could associate with that tingling sensation that set me alight at the thought of Sehun. Maybe that was a word I could use to describe the act of kissing him in that dimly lit space that I still remember in perfect detail with each blink of my eyes. Maybe that is the word for that surge of breathlessness that accompanies every memory of those moments when we touched.

When Heechul looked at me with fire leaking out of his eyes, though, I knew that I couldn’t say any of those truths aloud. I shrank under the understanding that I was not expected to respond. Even in Yesung’s absence, I was in for a scolding. Dropping the curtains, lowering my gaze to the palms I pressed flat against the skirt of my dress, I elected to brave it silently.

I made the wrong choice. “Aren’t you going to answer me?” Heechul’s roar stirred Mom into sitting upright.

“I—” I shook my head, face burning as it always did when I was the center of attention— “I figured you were asking a rhetorical question.”

“I wasn’t!” I looked up in time to watch Heechul’s eyes roll. “Where did you go? Who were you with?”

Normally, I would have been too flattered that Heechul cared about me to feel at all stifled by his rare protective outbursts, but something about his tone and the glint in his eyes sparked my temper ablaze.

Before I could reply with any degree of sass, Grandma lied without glancing away from Park Seojoon’s face on the television, “She asked for my permission before leaving, so you don’t have to worry, Heechul.”

I should have been content to leave the confrontation at that. Because Grandma ranked above Heechul in the family hierarchy, he bit down on his tongue despite the persistent urge to berate me that stained his face a dull shade of red.

Emboldened by the belief that I had done nothing wrong, I reminded Heechul, “I’m 21 years old, so technically I’m allowed to go where I want, whenever I want, with whoever—”

“You were out with your abusive-ass boyfriend, weren’t you?” Heechul fumed.

My face burned at Heechul’s blatant misunderstanding of Sehun. I was speechless, numb and nauseated by the screaming thought that nobody had ever been as wrong about anyone to the degree that Heechul was wrong about Sehun.

Lucas whirled around in his place on the floor to stare at me with sparkling eyes and a smile that flourished even in the tense atmosphere established by Heechul’s tantrum. “Boyfriend?” He repeated hopefully, giggling at the grin that tugged at my lips because the dream that Sehun could be my boyfriend— the first and only person I would love without limitations— was, for the first time, not a vague abstract concept.

Sehun was within reach, I knew, because I held him.

Mom rubbed bags under her eyes that were darkened by fatigue and running mascara. “What are you talking about? Lei’s boyfriend is right here!” She pointed at Lucas, misunderstanding our relationship for the millionth time.

“Stop living in a fantasy!” Heechul corrected her before I could.

The sharpness of his tone didn’t seem to bother Mom in the slightest way. Her eyes only narrowed in genuine confusion as she tried to resign herself to the fact that Heechul was right when he said, “Lei never dated Lucas! I’ve told you a million times— they’re siblings!” Jabbing a finger at me without glancing my way, Heechul told Mom, “She has a thing for that boy with the angry eyebrows and angrier temper!”

I squirmed at the knowledge that Mom and Heechul were among the millions who speculated about my relationships. To distract Heechul from Mom, who had enough to worry about without him yelling at her, I yelled, “My relationship with Sehun is none of your business!”

“Sehun?” Mom gasped, bringing a hand up to her lips. Her shoulders sagged. “You mean you’re really not dating Lucas?”

Thankfully, Lucas distracted Mom from the fact that Heechul, Grandma, and I rolled our eyes. Turning to place his hand on her knee over her red pajama pants, probably staining the fabric with buttery fingers, Lucas sweetly answered, “No, Mom. We never dated. We’re best friends.”

From that moment on, following a subtle nod at Lucas, who had never before gone to such lengths to deliberately deny our dating allegations, Mom never again mistook us for a couple.

“Sehun?” Mom repeated, focusing her bewildered gaze on me. “You were out with Sehun?”

The answer was obvious because of his coat that still hung loosely over my shoulders and the blush that colored my face at the sound of his name. Still, I nodded my head and closed my eyes to block out the sight of Mom’s mouth falling open in utter surprise.

“If you’re shocked by this,” Heechul hissed at her, “then you should have seen them fighting on the front porch!”

“That was a misunderstanding!”

I don’t know who I was trying to convince with that outburst: Mom, whose gaze flickered between me and Heechul; Grandma, who finally paused the television drama to devote her full attention to the real-life drama unfolding before her eyes; Heechul, who still glared at me, impossible to convince; or myself, who plummeted from my height at the memory of the fight on the front porch that Heechul would not let me forget.

Lucas, the only person who didn’t require convincing, agreed uncharacteristically quietly, “Yeah. Sehun has loved Lei forever. He’s just learning how to show it in a new way.”

Deaf to Lucas’s opinion or otherwise dubious, Heechul insisted, “I didn’t misunderstand a damn thing about him snatching that flower crown off of your head! Don’t be stupid enough to forgive a jerk just because he lies and says he loves you!”

At my ragged wheeze that filled the room instead of my adamant declaration that it wasn’t a lie— that Sehun meant it when he said he loved me— Grandma cut her eyes at Heechul, Lucas dropped his gaze into the bucket of popcorn in his lap, and only Mom was brave enough to argue.

She placed a soothing hand on Heechul’s shoulder. “Heechul, calm down. That’s what happens in young love— misunderstandings, dramatic arguments, more dramatic reconciliations. Sehun is a sweet boy, so I’m sure—”

“You didn’t see what I saw!” Heechul frowned as he shrugged out of Mom’s grip. “If _**that’s**_ that guy’s idea of love, then he needs to stay the hell away from our girl!”

My stomach turned at the mere thought of never seeing Sehun again, and I glared at Heechul for speaking such a tragedy into the universe. This is precisely the sort of thing I should never admit, but I knew that I would have gone behind Heechul’s back for the rest of my life to continue walking with Sehun even for moments at a time in the darkness.

I was dangerously in love with him, all too willing to risk my reputation and other relationships. That’s not necessarily a good thing, but it’s the truth. Thankfully, Mom didn’t seem to buy into Heechul’s prejudice against Sehun. I didn’t even want to know whether I would disregard her advice to chase after a boy, even one like Sehun.

Crossing her legs in her seat, Grandma asked, “Lei, is Sehun the one who kissed you in the dining room?”

My face burned at the memory of Baekhyun’s brief kiss. I wasn’t grateful to Grandma for bringing it up. How could she have forgotten Sehun’s face after all those years I spent showing her his photographs and detailing everything he ever meant to me?

Before I could recover from embarrassment long enough to shake my head in response, Lucas gasped, “Sehun kissed you in the dining room? When were you gonna tell me that?”

“Sehun didn’t kiss me in the dining room!” I fixed my flustered gaze on Lucas, crossing my arms tightly over my chest as I hurriedly explained, “Baek did, but only because mistletoe was involved!”

Lucas raised a skeptical eyebrow, opening his mouth probably to remind me that the last time I said something like that, the boy hadn’t kissed me **_only_** because mistletoe was involved.

My eyes screwed shut as if that would blind me to the rather obvious fact that there was something bittersweet— but mostly sweet— in Baekhyun’s kiss because there was far too large of a gap between the present-tense version of myself who was in love with Sehun and the me of my dreams who was born to be the mirrored moon to Baekhyun’s burning sun. This was not the time to embrace the hope that I would get there someday, to the place where dreams and reality meet, to the place where the sun touches the moon. So I bit my tongue and comforted myself with the belief that there is a time for everything under the sun.

“Baek?” Heechul repeated through his frown.

Again, Mom tried to conceal her gasp with her hands. “Baekhyun kissed you?”

I said, “It wasn’t a real kiss!” but that didn’t feel very much like the truth. I hoped nobody saw through my claim as easily as I could.

“Oh,” Grandma nodded as if to distract me from the confusing spiral of Baekhyun-related thoughts. “So Sehun is the one who was heartbroken by the kiss?”

That easily, Grandma returned my attention to Sehun. Just by imagining that Sehun had been at all affected by that brief peck on my cheek, I jolted awake from every Baekhyun dream and found my footing in a shallow pool of remorse. It was fruitless to wish that the kiss hadn’t happened (especially since I had done nothing to provoke it). It was probably equally as fruitless to wish that I hadn’t been too focused on Mom’s moment of heartbreak to notice Sehun’s. Still, I did. A lot of my thoughts are fruitless.

“Oh, so he’s the jealous type too?” Heechul groaned. “This guy just has every perk, doesn’t he? You know, Lei, you’re not any better than the girls you always criticize on these shows—” he gestured wildly toward the television— “the ones who always overlook a perfectly nice guy like Baekhyun for some douchebag like—”

“Stop it!” My voice shattered as I screamed, rising to my feet and balling my fists at my sides. “Just stop it! I don’t care if you’re trying to protect me! I’m not going to sit here and listen to you misunderstand my favorite— my forever—” my chest heaved while I stuttered around the best way to describe Sehun— “the person I’ve loved for most of my life!”

Silence fell over the room. Everybody looked up at me with widened eyes because a.) I never raised my voice, b.) I never admitted to loving anyone or anything, and c.) I always had this rule about waiting until I was alone to shed tears.

I know I had broken that rule before in front of Sehun, especially when I was younger and more volatile, and I had sobbed into Lucas’s chest once or twice, and there was that time Changmin caught me in a brief fit of tears backstage, but Mom and Heechul— they were both so shocked by my outburst that they both stood as if to rush toward me.

Looking back, I wish I had allowed them to embrace me or dry my tears. I wanted to let them get close to me, but I guess I was too embarrassed. I guess I had not yet broken my longtime habit of running from overwhelming emotions.

I raced upstairs to my bedroom, thinking that if Donghae had been there like he was every past Christmas, he would have known what to say to diffuse the storm inside of me. Maybe he would have waited until I was alone in my room to gingerly knock on the door, sit by my side, watch the moon and stars with me through the window, and say everything that I needed to hear to smile again.

Closing the door behind myself, I admitted for the millionth time that I missed Donghae so much— too much. I hoped that I would be brave enough to tell him the next time our paths crossed. Speaking with Sehun assured me that that day would come sooner or later; I just hoped that we wouldn’t accumulate too much time apart because, really, I needed him then. Needing people is scary, I think, because you never realize how dependent you are until you’re alone.

I reached into Sehun’s pocket for my phone, somehow emboldened by the night’s twists and turns to take fate into my hands, somehow believing that I could bring our paths together on my own. Before I could dial Donghae’s number, though, I noticed the poster on my wall— the poster I hadn’t seen in two years— Sehun’s poster.

My phone fell back into my pocket. After I pulled the two halves of the mistletoe crown out of the pocket and set them next to the ribbon on my vanity, I tiptoed over to the poster. My heart pounded as if Sehun were really in my room, watching as I peeled the pink sticky note off of the poster’s face, laughing at the blush that spread across my face as I read:

**_“Don’t kiss this too much! It’s just a poster!” — Lucas_ **

I guess I had to laugh at the memory of my childhood self rising onto her tiptoes to peck at the poster’s lips. I guess I had to squeal at the realization that Lucas had returned my box of memories. I guess there was no choice other than to jump onto my bed, all too eager to pull out its contents one by one.

I was surprised to find that the items collected no dust in the years they spent on the highest shelf of Lucas’s closet— which I couldn’t quite reach no matter how I strained— or wherever the hell he hid them. He must have meant it when he promised to take care of them. I shouldn’t have been surprised; Lucas always kept his word.

Fastening my bracelet on its rightful place around my wrist, I imagined how different life would have been had I known when I first wore it years ago that Sehun and I would eventually find our way onto the same path at the same time. I wondered how different life would have been if I had known when I first removed it that the bracelet wouldn’t be too heavy forever.

Of course, no warning could have prepared me for the first kiss by the piano, or the second one on the porch, or the third kiss in his car, or the fact that in the span of one night I would lose track of how many times his lips brushed against mine, but I— I don’t know. It’s not that I regretted the years of longing for him and dreaming about him. How could I regret something that made up most of my life?

All I know for certain is that if I could do it all again— if I could go back to the start, knowing how it all would end— I would take back every cruel word I said to him in those two years that I tried to hate him. I **_did_** regret all of that time. I still do. I make up for it every day.

Now, I think there is more strength in wearing a broken heart on your sleeve than hiding it behind a crumbling stone mask. Now, I know that no wound heals when left to fester in the dark.

Maybe Heechul knew that too. Maybe that’s why he turned the light on when he walked through my door without knocking. There was something like an apology on the tip of his tongue before his eyes fell on the box.

“What’s that?” He asked, pointing.

Hesitantly, I answered, “Memories,” shielding Sehun’s pictures from Heechul’s eyes that, despite having softened considerably during his walk up the stairs, could have gone icy at any moment at the slightest provocation.

Heechul’s eyebrows shot up in an exaggerated expression of interest. “Oh?” He held out a hand. “Let me see.”

I shook my head. “Believe me: you don’t want to see him.”

I spoke quietly because I feared that we were on the brink of another fight— because I feared that I might have needed Heechul just as much as I needed Donghae— because I knew that I couldn’t have endured being at odds with him too.

More often than not, Heechul was a handful. He could trigger my migraine more quickly than anyone else I knew because he was loud, attention-seeking, and he had little (if any) concern for social decorum. In short, Heechul was annoying, but the very attributes that counted as flaws also counted as virtues. That made Heechul the most unique person I ever met.

Although he never expressly stated so and he was never inclined toward sickeningly sweet gestures, I never wondered whether Heechul loved me. It was evident, unspoken, embedded in my perception of the world.

I— I know that love isn’t supposed to be earned, but I think I have always been cripplingly afraid of losing it. That was probably my biggest flaw: biting my tongue, clenching my fists, packing ‘fruitless’ thoughts into boxes all in a desperate effort to cling to everything in my life that ever resembled love for the briefest second.

Still standing over me, Heechul softened his gaze. Maybe he saw my flaw and pitied me for it. “They’re pictures of that boy, aren’t they? The one you love?”  
We both reddened at that accurate description of Sehun.

“Yeah,” I whispered, moved by Heechul’s effort to control his temper and treat me like the piece of glass I had always been. “They’re pictures of Sehun.”

Heechul sat at the edge of my bed on the other side of the box and again held his hand out. That time, I trusted him with the photographs, but I watched anxiously as he flipped through them. “If you love him enough to collect all of these photocards, why did you have them packed away in some box?”

“I tried to grow out of him,” I admitted, tracing my thumb over the bracelet’s cotton candy charm.

Heechul’s head tilted as if to ask ‘Why?’ so I continued, “It’s exhausting to be in love with somebody who can’t love you. I thought it would make me strong if I could stop. I thought that if I never saw these things again, I would grow up, but I—”

Looking into the box to find that old My Melody keychain from my tenth birthday smiling at me, I sighed, “I must have been doomed from the start or something.”

“That’s a bleak outlook on love.” Heechul carefully placed the photocards back into the box and surveyed the other objects. “You aren’t doomed because you’re attracted to someone. It may not be easy or pain-free, but you don’t have to be with somebody just because you can’t stop loving him.”

“But I do want to be with him.” Drawing a deep breath, I tried to explain, “I— I know that you’ve only seen us together at our weakest moment, but I swear that Sehun is a good person. He’s the best person because he always tries to do the right thing, and he has always tried to guide me onto the best path even when we were lost in the dark. Most of the time, he’s almost inhumanly calm and patient, but right now he’s a little clumsy with his feelings because he never planned to date, and he probably never expected to love me, and—”

“Lei,” Heechul interrupted, nearly laughing at my lovesick rambling. “You don’t have to convince me that this guy deserves your heart. You’re 21, and you can go out with whoever you want, and collect photocards of whoever you want, and I— why are you looking at me like that?”

I shrugged my heavy shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t want you to think that I’m a fool for some boy who doesn’t even love me. I guess when I love somebody, I want you to love them too.”

“Oh.” As Heechul scratched at the back of his neck, his eyes flickered away from mine. He cleared his throat. “That’s not going to be easy. I’ll try because I can see the little lights in your eyes when you talk about him, but I remember the tears that were in your eyes when he snatched your crown.”

“Oh,” I muttered, knowing that nothing I could have said would wipe that scene from Heechul’s memory.

Fidgeting, Heechul admitted, “I know that you’ve always said that you would never date, but I always imagined that you would end up with someone who gives you crowns. I— maybe that doesn’t make sense.”

I picked at a loose thread on my quilt and fought the sudden urge to cry. “It makes sense.”

“And even if I tried to forget, Yesung would never let me.” Heechul rolled his eyes. “His bitching about the punk who stole our princess’s crown totally killed the party.”

Again, I mouthed, “Oh.”

Once he noticed that my eyes were glossy with tears, Heechul huffed, “I can’t handle all of these emotions. You and your mom are killing me tonight!” He fanned himself before declaring, “Fine! Fine, I’ll forgive that boy, but only because I think your mom is probably right about how young people act. She’s always right, damn it!”

“Really?” I couldn’t help but smile. “You’ll forgive Sehun?”

“Yeah,” Heechul grumbled, “but only because I remember this one time that your mom and I had a huge ass fight in public. I did something really, really stupid, so she slapped the shit out of me, and for a second there, I really wanted to slap the pink off of her lips—”

I cracked up at that completely unprecedented phrase, and Heechul cut his eyes at me and crossed his arms. “It’s not funny, Lei! It really hurt, and I had to walk around the drive-in with a handprint on my face!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, grinning as I remembered how Sehun helped me find Mom and Heechul when I got lost at the drive-in, how he let me hold his hand because I was afraid to walk in the dark, how he laughed at the voices I made up when translating the film into Korean.

“Anyway,” Heechul hummed, “the moral of my story is that anyone can do something rash out of character, so I understand. I get it. I’ll let your little boyfriend off the hook this time, but he needs to learn to control himself if he doesn’t want Yesung to kick his ass. Pass that along on your next midnight rendezvous.”

Too happy to point out that Sehun wasn’t technically my boyfriend, I nodded. “Alright, Heechul.”

“And you—” Heechul stood and started toward the door, beckoning me to follow him downstairs to resume the drama— “don’t forget that you deserve the world because I don’t want to have this talk again.”

  
  
  
  
  



	15. The Girl Who Woke Me Up

  
  
  


**Sehun’s POV**

It wasn’t like Lei to be late, but she was nowhere to be found half an hour into the New Year’s party. Although she had been helping her mother set up just a few hours earlier, Lei was not by Manager Kim’s side as she made frantic rounds about the room, tiptoeing carefully around Donghae’s lingering gaze. Although she and Lucas were nearly inseparable, Lei did not stand by him as he downed another glass of champagne while laughing with Mark Lee at the NCT table.

I was about to send her a concerned text when Taemin said from his side of Jongin, “She is so beautiful.”

Like everybody else at the table, I looked toward whoever managed to turn Taemin’s voice into a lyrical whisper. It didn’t matter that it was none of our business who held Taemin’s heart. When somebody loves that openly, everybody wants to watch for a second or two— even me.

My jaw dropped as my eyes settled on her. She was Lei.

Walking beside Baekhyun, Lei held three hearts in the palm of her hand: mine, Baekhyun’s, and Taemin’s. And I don’t even think she knew what she held, what she could destroy with a single touch should she so choose. I think she only felt the weight of my heart because I forced it upon her through forever-kisses at that Christmas Party.

But how— how light, how insignificant might my heart feel compared to that of her ultimate idol? How cold and callous and uncaring might my voice sound compared to his?

How dark, how dull might my love look compared to that of the boy standing next to her? How rough and careless and frozen might my touch feel compared to his when he catches her before she can fall?

My stomach twisted as I fought (and failed) to tear my eyes from the visual of Lei and Baekhyun. They matched so perfectly from head to toe that, had I not known better, had I not believed that she loved me, I would have assumed that she coordinated her outfit with him.

Their dark hair was parted on the left side. Their clothes were crafted from the same sparkling midnight blue material. Their silver masks were a perfect pair that accented their best facial features. Their flowers— their flowers were the worst part. Atop her head, Lei wore a crown of white roses accented by blue baby’s breath; she looked like a princess. In the suit pocket over his heart, Baekhyun tucked a white rose; he looked like her prince.

At that moment, I realized that it is much harder to believe in coincidence than it is to believe in fate. At that moment when she was so far out of reach, it was easy to see that Lei and Baekhyun were written in the stars, and I— where was I written?

Suddenly, it was as clear to everyone in the banquet hall as it was to me at the foot of the stairs in Lei’s house: they were meant to walk together. Lei and Baekhyun were meant to be viewed as a pair.

As whispers about them, some approving and some disapproving, overtook the party, the tips of my ears burned. My hands formed tight fists under the table. And all I can remember thinking is **_I have to hide my breaking heart. No, I have to keep it from breaking, at least for now, because it is in her hands. My heart is in her delicate hands, and the jagged shards will make her bleed._**

It didn’t matter that Baekhyun was standing right there, willing and ready to bandage her. It didn’t matter that Taemin could stop the bleeding with a single smile. I didn’t want to hurt Lei ever again; I didn’t want to scar her anymore. If protecting her meant suffering silently— well— that wasn’t anything I hadn’t done before.

Quietly, Jongdae whistled. “Who knew that sweet little Princess Lei would grow up to be so pretty?”

Chanyeol laughed loudly as his elbow dug into my ribs. “ ** _Someone_** did, right, Sehun?”

Obviously, I wouldn’t have responded to Chanyeol’s jest even if I could have found my voice. I wouldn’t have known what to say.

Afraid of saying or doing something to shatter the loving image I left with Lei on Christmas, I turned to walk away from the scene that threatened to destroy me. Of course, I wasn’t going to hide forever. The plan was to stand some ways away long enough to untangle the knot in my stomach. The plan was to stand aside to remind myself that choices are as significant as fate, and I was Lei’s choice. I am Lei’s choice. 

The problem, of course, was my promise to stand where she could see me. ** _I won’t go far_** , I told myself. **_I’ll stand right there, right against that wall, and maybe— hopefully— wouldn’t it be nice if she comes to me?_**

That’s pathetic, isn’t it— the fact that I still dreamed that she would take the first steps? I’m sorry that I wasn’t stronger. I’m sorry that I wasn’t bolder. Always, always I was aware of my inadequacies. Always, always I daydreamed about filling them with her. At that moment, however, it occurred to me that that was not right; it occurred to me that that is not love. Above all, it occurred to me that I wanted to give Lei the purest love in her life. 

And I— I didn’t know how. Nobody ever taught me how. 

On my walk, I nearly collided with Taemin. Despite his eagerness to escape the table, he said, “Excuse me, Sehun,” through a small smile. The smile wasn’t a forced display of manners; it was genuine. I could tell because little wrinkles formed around his eyes.

I had never seen a smile like that before. Although faint, it was not at all sad or indicative of a broken heart even though we were walking away from the same scene: the one we loved beside another. Taemin’s smile was joyful, inspired merely by seeing Lei from afar.

I needed to be more like Taemin, I realized as my back pressed against the wall. I needed to learn to love Lei a little more quietly, a little more peacefully, a little more selflessly. Rather than loving her like the careless teenager I had been when we met, rather than relying on her for constant assurance in our relationship that endured storms over a decade, rather than hoping for her to meet me most or all of the way—

I needed to grow up. I needed to find assurance in the steady beating of my own heart. I needed to take the first step for the rest of forever. I would. I will. That’s the promise I made to myself, the promise I made in one of the hearts she held. 

**_I will love you. I won’t love you perfectly. I won’t love you through a smile as gentle as Taemin’s. I won’t love you with an unmistakable, inescapable warmth like Baekhyun. But I will love you in the best way I know. I will love you with every word I say. I will love you with the words I am not yet brave enough to say. I will love you so deeply for the rest of my life that you will never wonder how I feel. You will never wonder who hung the moon and stars in my sky._ **

While Lei defended herself against Chanyeol’s allegation that she had broken my heart as if she could ever be cruel enough to do such a thing, I wrestled with the best way to express my feelings. A verbal conversation wouldn’t do; she enjoyed debating and pressing my buttons too much. I couldn’t very well write a song; that would require enlisting the help of someone like Chanyeol who had better knowledge of music production, and I didn’t want to share my feelings with him (or anybody else, for that matter). 

While Manager Kim captivated the entire room with her heartfelt good-bye’s to Super Junior and Heechul declared that she was resigning from her position as their manager because of her feelings for Donghae, I decided that I could best express myself in writing. Starting from the beginning, I could map out our stars, and there— there I would be written. 

There, I could point to myself on a page and say, ‘I belong here too. I love her too. Even if she wakes up tomorrow and chooses one of you, even if my nightmares come true and she outgrows me, once upon a time, she chose me. Once upon a time, she loved me. Once upon a time, we were the best love story ever written, and I— I— I will never forget that I was her first love, so you shouldn’t either.’

That’s what I wrote on the inside cover of the leather-bound notebook containing our story, by the way. That’s the first of my thoughts that Lei read in my handwriting; it made her break into laughing tears. By that, I mean she was gasping through laughter and tears. So I was also gasping through laughter and tears when she set the book on our bed, crawled to me, and cupped my cheeks with her soft, warm hands, whispering onto my lips, “My first love, my endless love, my Sehun— I am so glad the road led to you.” 

And I believe her. 

When I found Lei standing alone on the terrace where everyone gathered to watch fireworks an hour early at Changmin’s urging, I embraced her. I didn’t think much of the fact that somebody was always watching. I didn’t much care about lingering stares, and I told Lei plainly when she mumbled into my chest, “Someone is going to see, Sehunnie.” 

“I love you,” I reminded her in a whisper per her request. My heart melted into a warm golden puddle in my stomach because of the spoken nickname and because she didn’t push me away. She didn’t argue with me as I declared, “I love you so much that I want everyone to see.” 

That was a funny thing to say, considering that we were huddled together in the darkest corner where no eyes would have strayed. 

I dropped a kiss onto her flower crown because it marked her as a princess— my princess— and it didn’t matter that Baekhyun gave it to her. The affection, I hoped, I prayed, would make me her prince. 

“I love you so much,” I muttered against a rose, “that I want everyone to hear.” 

That was a funny thing to say, considering that I spoke in the faintest whisper that only she could hear. 

Lei giggled as she linked her hands around my waist beneath my jacket. Her laughter was, is, always will be the most beautiful melody in this world. I loved being its conductor. I loved being its audience. 

“I’m so happy, Sehun.” She said my name with the brightest smile I had ever seen. 

It so closely resembled the smile she gave me all those years ago when she first gave me her name. It was still too big for her face, and it made her look much younger than the scowl she hurled at Chanyeol in the banquet hall. The only difference was that she no longer spoke through a gap in her front teeth; the gap was closed. 

After assuring her that I was happy too— far happier than I ever imagined because she stood near— I said, “I miss your gap, Lei. You’re beautiful, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, but I really wish I could see your gappy smile one more time.” 

“There are plenty of pictures of it.” The tips of her ears burned red at the compliment, and I thought that I had to call her beautiful every day. From the dimple forming in her chin, however, it was evident that she knew the limitations of photographs. “You know, I miss my gap too. I hated it when I had it, but the thing is: I always picture myself with a gap in my front teeth.” 

I stared into her wide eyes, finding my lovestruck reflection within them. “I always think of you with stars in your eyes.” 

I heard her breath hitch as she held me closer. Breathlessly, she reached for my hand. “I always think of you with my heart on your hand.” 

After bringing my frozen, trembling hand up her lips, she left a ruby-red kiss mark where she once left a fingerprint heart. I wanted to carry that mark everywhere with me. I wanted to boast it to everybody, and I promised to learn how to do that. I promised to learn who to tell. I promised to learn what to say to make them understand how much it meant to me— how much it means to me. 

I think I have learned. I think I have made you understand. I hope that I have. Please, tell me that I have. 

Her gesture rooted in our past, her touch— still electric— made my heart flutter. Her touch, even as my favorite memory, still makes my heart flutter. 

Her touch compelled me to say out loud, “I fell in love with you the day you marked your heart on my hand, you know. All at once, I opened my eyes and realized I was on the edge of a cliff, and I—” I choked on my emotions, but I forced myself to continue— “I was so scared that you wouldn’t wait for me at the bottom.” 

The wind blew and filled my eyes with tears that I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to become an overtly sentimental person, but every wall I ever built around my emotions tumbled at her touch. I didn’t want to shed a single tear, but Lei brought both hands up to my face, wordlessly promising to catch each tear before they fell. 

Lei loved me. She loved me so much from the day we met, and I— I am so grateful. I did not know whether love was meant to be repaid, but I resolved in that moment under her moon and all of her stars to return every loving gaze for the rest of my life. 

I held both of her hands against my cheeks because her touch made me brave enough to speak. “You said that I could walk with you anytime. And I just want you to know that I want to walk with you forever. I want you to know that I’m so sorry for—”

For trying to walk away. For breaking her mistletoe crown. For failing to regard her heart as the treasure it had been all along. 

But I couldn’t say any of those things she deserved to hear. My throat tightened around my words. 

Wiping my tears, Lei promised, “I forgive you. I forgive you, Sehunnie. Everything— everything painful is past, and now we are walking hand-in-hand on a path that doesn’t end.” Her thumbs stroked my cheeks, raising goosebumps in their wake. “Don’t carry things we don’t need, angel. Don’t carry things that will only hurt you. It’s okay.” 

Lei pulled me into the sweetest kiss. It lasted for about a millisecond, a blink in time, and I **_knew_** that was all we were, but God— God— we felt infinite. I think— no, I know this is love: when somebody makes you, a mere mortal, feel as though time has stopped; when somebody makes you feel as if forever, eternity, and fate were words written for you. 

“In case you forgot,” Lei said, “I love you too.” She beamed up at me, so I had to smile even as she winked in an attempt to dig under my skin: “In case you forgot, I loved you first!” 

Because I couldn’t argue with the truth, I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. Okay. You loved me first, but—” I caught her around the waist and leaned to whisper in her ear— “I’ll love you longer.” 

“As if,” she scoffed, pushing me away so I could catch the furrowing of her brow. “How can you even make such a bold claim? I told you, Sehunnie, I’ve loved you forever, and I’ll love you forevermore. What could last longer than forever?”

Feigning deep contemplation, I hummed through puckered lips, hoping that Lei would rise to kiss them. (Note: Lei never disappoints.) “Maybe forever in writing? I think I heard once that a love recorded on paper, in a film, or in a song lives forever.” 

“If you’re planning to write about me,” she said, “you should know that I’ve been writing about you too. I’ve been trying to map out or stars since we kissed in your car, but I— I can’t figure out how the stars aligned.” Her head went aslant. “But I also can’t figure out how we could have ended up anywhere else with anybody else.” 

It had been made clear to me that any misstep could have led Lei to Baekhyun or Taemin. Maybe she will find her way to them someday no matter what I do, but I gave no voice to those thoughts. Taking a deep breath, I soared at the imagination of Lei writing to pinpoint the correlation between the me of the past, the me of her dreams, and the me of right now. I hoped she was proud to have created a place where we could be together forever, even if someday we should wake up on different paths. 

It’s romantic, isn’t it, that we separately experienced the same epiphany concerning our stars? 

“Some things are just meant to be,” I figured, sounding unlike the version of myself who struggled to believe in things like destiny, the version I had been for almost all of my life. “You and I— Lei, we are the greatest meant to be I can imagine.” 

  


When I stepped into the warmth of the agency building from the winter snow, I quickly found Lei asleep at that table by the vending machine where we met. Her face was almost completely nuzzled into the bend of her elbow, into the cloud-soft baby blue sleeve of her sweater. Her dark hair sprawled over much of the table; it was so long then, almost reaching her waist. She shouldn’t have been recognizable, but I would have known her anywhere, from any distance. 

“Wake up,” I whispered into her ear as I settled into the chair next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “I’m here.” 

Once Lei sat upright and set to rubbing her sleep-swollen eyes, it was obvious that we couldn’t go out on an adventurous date. That much should have been obvious, I know, determined by our roles as idols, but I hadn’t shaken that image of her and Baekhyun standing together at the New Year’s party from the front of my mind. 

I wasn’t jealous anymore. That initial towering wave of nausea and the drowning sense of inferiority had passed without casting me overboard. It just occurred to me once the storm cleared and the sun broke through the clouds that I wanted to be the person by her side forever; I wanted to stand by her in the light; I wanted it to be obvious to strangers from a glance that we were meant to walk together. 

Rising to her feet and slinging her bookbag— the tiny pink Hello Kitty bag she carried since childhood, the bag still donning the keychain I bought for her tenth birthday— Lei groaned, “I’m **_exhausted!_** And I didn’t even realize it until I woke up.” 

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” I said as I followed her, “but there are more comfortable places to sleep, you know.” 

Lei had worked herself to the point of exhaustion, I know without a doubt, because she made no argument; she loved to argue. 

On our walk to the door, I reached for her hand, which was always much smaller than mine. She flinched at the contact probably because my hands were always cold, maybe because she wasn’t yet used to affection, hopefully because my touch was electric. 

As shocked as she had been at the start, Lei was the one who interlaced our fingers. Lei was the one who whined when I had to break the contact to open the passenger door and then round to the driver’s seat. Lei was the one who reached for my hand as soon as I set it on the steering wheel. 

“I just want to feel you.” Her words blurred together drowsily, but her eyes shot open— wide awake— when I glanced at her. “Your hands are so warm, Sehunnie, and it’s so cold outside. I’m freezing!”

After turning the heat up, I said through a budding smile while starting down the familiar path to her house, “Nobody has ever called my hands warm. Then again, nobody ever held my hands before you.” 

**_“And nobody will hold my hands after you,”_** I almost said. Because I didn’t want to think of a time after her— I didn’t want to think of a time without her— I bit down on my tongue. I left those words unsaid. Unspoken words hold power too. 

“Your hand was warm at the drive-in too,” she told me. “Holding your hand made me feel like the moon and stars smiled down at us.” 

There was no moon and there were no stars that night, I remembered clearly, but I didn’t remind Lei. Maybe this sounds crazy, but I hope she misremembered a lot about those days before I could love her. In a way, I hoped she romanticized them; I hoped she saw them— I hope she saw the past me— through love-colored lenses. I hoped the stars smiled in all of her memories. 

With an almost childlike quality of honesty— the kind that I never wanted to argue with, the kind I only **_thought_** I had to argue with— Lei said, “Holding your hand makes me feel like spring has come.” 

Butterflies raged in my stomach and told me the perfect thing to say: “That’s funny. Looking at you makes me feel like spring has come.” 

I think that might have made her squeal had she not been drifting to sleep. Her head banged against the window every few seconds. 

“Lay back,” I tried to demand sternly, but my voice was nothing but a gentle whisper around her after Christmas. “Lei, lean your chair back and go to sleep. You’re gonna bruise your face or give yourself a concussion if you keep hitting your head.” 

Without opening her eyes, she argued, “I don’t wanna go to sleep! I wanna stay awake with you!” 

She was being rather childish, I thought, but she repeated that sentiment once we sat together on her living room couch, which was no longer tainted by the memory of finding Lucas atop her on her birthday. 

“But you’re tired.” Tightening my arms around her waist, I pulled her closer and encouraged her to lean into me, to fall asleep on me. “Just close your eyes, and I’ll go to sleep with you.” 

Lei didn’t resist my pull. Her eyelashes tickled the skin on my neck as she laid against me and allowed her eyelids to flutter shut. Without mumbling another word, she fell into that deep heavy-breathing sleep, and I wondered how many nights she had avoided sleep. I wondered how I was supposed to fall asleep with her laying so close. I wondered how I was supposed to close my eyes while my heart pounded in my chest, eager to break free and unite with hers. I wondered how I was supposed to breathe while her breath whispered across my skin. 

I was wide awake— I am wide awake— and I never want to sleep again.


End file.
